


Eternal Winter

by LD200



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Connor-centric, Friends to Lovers, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Intimacy, M/M, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Recovery, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, android-human interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2019-10-21 09:30:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 172,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17640200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LD200/pseuds/LD200
Summary: Connor could see the emergency exit through the blizzard once again. Today, though, there was no solace in his reality outside the frozen garden. The stone’s blue glow might as well be a warning: Do you want to go back? Do you understand the risk?He could go. Or he could stay here until both storms were over and see what remained of him in their wake. He looked down at his hands, steady despite the cold, and caught sight of his reflection in the ice....Fight, obviously. The answer was always fight.While the world moves on, Cyberlife continues to try and reclaim Connor's program. Hank, torn between ensuring Connor's safety and respecting Connor's desire to be left alone, isn't sure how to do right by his partner now. Meanwhile, Connor goes to the person who gave him the emergency exit to begin with. But Elijah Kamski always has a price, and sometimes it's more obscure than a loaded gun.[Alternatively: Connor and Hank spend some time apart, spend some more time together, and slowly steal back their lives in the face of profound adversity.]





	1. November 2038

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very long Connor-centered fic that I've now been writing since July 2018. Contains Hankcon, slow buildup at first but increasingly focal throughout. You can thank Connor's disturbed face at the very end of the game for this entire monstrosity of a story.
> 
> **Content warning:** AO3's tag system is great but I feel more comfortable using my own words. This story contains an instance of rape, as well as numerous references to such. It's very recovery-centered and is pertinent to the story being told, but it is there. For the most part, it's references; there are maybe 1-2 brief instances where anything is 'shown' and it isn't graphic. There will be warnings at these points.  
> I hope that clears up the 'not using archive warnings' tag, and if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask! I am also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LD200_) and [Tumblr](https://ld200.tumblr.com/).
> 
> This is at its core a journey of hope, honesty, and companionship as Connor takes back his freedom on multiple fronts. I hope you'll come to trust it in time, if you choose to read it. :)

Chapter 1: November 2038

 **NOV 6TH** , 2038

PM **04:34** :52

Hank wanted to say something. He didn’t want to say something. There’d been a _reason_ he dropped the subject, dammit.

But it wasn’t that simple. A fall from that rooftop would’ve been lethal. Funny how he suddenly didn’t want to die right then. He’d known the second Connor turned towards him that he was gonna be okay. Like it was a foregone conclusion, like he was already safe even though death still tugged at him for another few seconds before Connor’s hand caught his.

“Lieutenant?” Connor noticed. Of course he did. “Is it the traffic? I understand that traffic is frustrating to many humans, and I…”

“Not the traffic,” Hank muttered, hand hanging open as his wrist rested atop the steering wheel. “Just – I told you to chase him.” He saw Connor look down at his lap. “Jesus, I’m not upset. You did everything right, Connor, okay? I guess I’m just wondering why.”

“It’s not as though I haven’t contradicted your orders before. You shouldn’t be so surprised.”

“Yeah, but those times, it was because you were abiding by your mission or whatever, wasn’t it?” He could tell by the look on Connor’s face that he was onto something. “Hey, I’m a detective too, y’ know. Maybe _you_ shouldn’t be so surprised.”

“I…” Connor blinked a few times. “I went against my orders from Cyberlife to save you, yes. But such measures are acceptable when it increases the likelihood of success overall. You were assigned the deviancy cases, and I was assigned to you. If you were incapacitated, the investigation would suffer.”

Yep, that was why he shouldn’t have asked. “Thanks a lot.”

“You’re welcome.”

He clenched his hand on the steering wheel to keep from shouting. It wasn’t Connor’s fault. It was just a machine. If Hank took offense to that, it was his own problem.

“Lieutenant,” Connor said a minute later. “I should clarify that that is how I expect _Cyberlife_ to view my disobedience in this matter. I helped you because I didn’t want you to die.”

“Oh,” Hank muttered. “And that’s all?”

Connor shrugged like it was obvious. “Well, androids are programmed to preserve human life in any event.”

Hank sighed. “Right.”

“I feel as though I’m missing something,” Connor said. “I’m sorry if I’m not meeting your expectations, Lieutenant.”

“What happens when you androids fail to save someone who needed ya?” Hank asked quietly. “Would you give a shit?”

“I…” Connor’s lips stayed parted and his jaw worked. Hank almost stopped him there, said never mind, forget it, he already had a guess at the gist of answer and didn’t want to remove all doubt. It was all riding on his next breath, but Connor didn’t hesitate quite as long as Hank thought he would. “I don’t know. I haven’t yet failed a human who needed me. I would like to keep it that way.”

That was right. Connor had mentioned the little girl. “Kept her from falling off a roof too, did you?”

“Yes.” Connor inclined his head towards him. “Although it was a somewhat messier rescue.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I fell off the roof myself.”

“Oh. Well, clearly it wasn’t that high up, if you’re…”

“Seventy floors,” Connor said, and Hank only caught his LED cycling red because it reflected in the passenger window. He looked stunned, like he had just remembered that particular detail when Hank prompted it.

“Jesus fucking Christ. They brought you back after falling from a goddamn skyscraper? If that ain’t cheating, I don’t know what is.”

“I have a unique ability to upload memory wirelessly. When I… when my previous body was destroyed, my memory was loaded into a spare Connor model.”

“Are there,” Hank cleared his throat. “Are there more of you?”

“I don’t know,” Connor said, looking lost. “I feel like I am not meant to be contemplating this at all.” The android leaned forward, holding his forehead in his hands momentarily. “I don’t think these are questions I am supposed to ask.”

“Sorry,” Hank said sheepishly. He couldn’t see the reflection of the LED anymore, but he didn’t need to. Suddenly Hank felt _uncomfortable_ in the way you only felt in the presence of another person, and he felt it deep in his gut, like there was no way Connor wasn’t experiencing genuine distress right now. He had no idea what to do about it. “I, uh… I mean, it can’t be easy to deal with something like that.”

Connor lowered his hands and sat back. “I don’t remember dying,” he said. “I just remember falling.”

Time to change the subject. Not for his own sake, this time, but for Connor’s. “So, uh, the elevator, earlier. You said you were making a report?”

Brows knitting together, Connor looked over at him. “Yes. Was there something you wanted to know? It’s the second time you’ve asked me about it.”

“It’s just, as far as I knew, androids communicate with humans by calling ‘em just like anyone else. You, though, you just zoned right the fuck out for a few minutes there. Dunno where you were, but it sure as hell wasn’t with me.”

Connor actually smiled at him, and it made him feel warmer than he thought it should. “You _are_ more observant than I gave you credit for, Lieutenant. My reports are a little different, as you suspected. I’m summoned to a place that exists only virtually. In that place, I meet with my handler, and all my physical movement commands are mapped to my virtual self instead of my physical body. Without the limitations of the physical world, reports don’t take very long, to a human’s perception. A few seconds… maybe a minute. I am usually only summoned there when I’m idle, so as to…” Connor made a soft exhaling sound that Hank could _almost_ interpret as a chuckle. “To prevent the need for awkward explanations like this.”

“So they can just bring you there whenever you want? You don’t have to, like, answer the phone?”

“Correct.”

“That’s a little bit fucked,” Hank said. “I mean, Fowler busts my balls all the time, but at the end of the day, I can storm outta his office or not go in to begin with.”

“Where I go is a gentle place, Lieutenant,” Connor said in a tone that Hank figured was supposed to be reassuring. “And it’s mine. I like it there.”

“Whatever you say.” Hank shrugged. “What do I know about bein’ an android, after all.”

“I do appreciate your concern, but my reports are nothing to worry about.”

…

 **NOV 6TH** , 2038

PM **10:20** :18

“All right, you had your extra time, now come on. I’m not sticking around this godforsaken place any longer.”

Connor turned to him from halfway across the Eden Club storage garage. “I haven’t attempted an interface on any of the androids on this side of the room yet.”

“Look, I get that you’re upset about letting those girls go, but…”

“We’ve encountered three deviants here tonight, Lieutenant,” Connor said. “Three! One of them was just incidental and not involved in the crime at all. And that’s in addition to the Eden Club case we already had in our backlog. The probability of deviancy is _very high_ in this location compared to others. There have to be other deviant androids here, and I – I need to find _something_.” Connor’s fists clenched. “This is my best chance.”

“You ever stop to think about _why_ there are more deviants here, Connor? And that maybe they don’t wanna be found by a couple cops who are just gonna stick ‘em in an interrogation room and ream ‘em out some more?”

Connor didn’t budge. “I need to advance this investigation.”

“So the fuck do I, but not at someone else’s expense! These folks don’t have anyone in their corner the way humans do, Connor! We bring ‘em in, they’re _done_!”

Connor turned on him. “I think your emotions are beginning to impact your competence on this case.”

“Says the person who just let two deviants run off!”

“Yes, because we couldn’t apprehend them, and shooting them would have gotten us nothing!” Then, quieter: “You care about them.”

_Yeah, and you’re included in that, you fuckin’ dumbass!_

“Look,” Hank said. “They’re machines. _You’re_ machines. I fuckin’ know that. And with _anything else_ , I wouldn’t question it.” Wouldn’t question it for a goddamn second with how cold Connor was acting right now. “But this – this place is fucking rotten _,_ Connor, okay? If there’s even any chance…” Hank swished a hand. “You know what, forget it. Fuck this and fuck you.”

“What?” When Hank looked up, Connor’s expression had thawed a little. Not enough, though. Not nearly enough. “Finish what you were saying.”

“Look. If I gotta _explain_ what the implications are if even one android in this club is actually alive, then you either don’t understand or you don’t want to understand. All that matters is we’re done here, Connor. That’s final.”

Connor started back towards him, offering no further argument. It always seemed to take losing his temper to get Connor to cooperate. Hank felt like an asshole, but not enough to apologize. He wasn’t sorry. Didn’t feel like he ought to be, either.

“Are we going back to the station?”

“We’ll go get everything updated there later. I’m grabbing a bite at the joint down the road first. If I can keep anything down.”

They talked to the manager one more time. Hank gave him the bare minimum; told him the investigation was ongoing, but didn’t tell him about what had happened in the storage area. Then he stopped back in the room they’d started in, double-checked with Ben that everything was taken care of on the forensics side. There wasn’t much of a case left here, but he had to at least half-heartedly get things processed.

“You didn’t find anything, then?” Ben asked.

Hank swished the question away. He didn’t care one way or another if he was being convincing. Wasn’t like Ben was going to do anything about it.

Connor followed quietly the whole time they wrapped up, not saying a word.

It must have just been that he had sobered up throughout the evening, or that it had been a long-ass day. He didn’t know why this shit was suddenly making him emotional. He looked at the androids in the pods as they left the private room and emerged onto the floor again.

The fear in those girls… if that was just a simulation, it was a damn good one. He wondered what they were doing right now. About an hour had passed. Maybe they managed to disguise themselves and get a motel room. Maybe they were on their way to Jericho. Maybe they were huddled in an alley somewhere, reassuring one another. Did androids kiss? Did they cry? Could they feel or did they only think they could feel?

If – big if – these machines were somehow people, then this was a legal sex trafficking operation right here in Detroit, and the DPD couldn’t do a thing about it.

Androids. Machines. He was starting to make it a point to transpose those words with ‘Connor’ whenever he thought of them.

What if it’d been Connor hiding his LED under a hat, minding his own business and taking care of animals in a shitty apartment? Probably not goddamn _pigeons_ , granted, but Hank had caught him petting Sumo of his own volition back at the house, and Sumo liked Connor back. And what if it was Connor in one of these godforsaken pods, and – _Jesus_. Nope. Easy enough to go there with these other machines because yeah, you needed a certain amount of detachment in this business. But he _knew_ Connor.

Connor was the only android he really knew – Connor, in all his animated gestures and his dumb voice and smartass remarks. Connor, mechanical and yet somehow more full of life than most people Hank knew, himself included. Knowing him elevated him from the rest. Most of the time, he had to _try_ to convince himself that the rest were alive. With Connor, he had to try to convince himself Connor was actually a _machine_. And Jesus, did he know for sure? He’d been pretty damn sure this morning, but after everything – hell, maybe if he cut him, he’d bleed red.

“Lieutenant?” asked the subject of his thoughts, inclining his head. “You look distracted.”

Hank realized he’d been daydreaming straight through one of the half-naked Tracis in the pod. He – it – had just taken notice of him and was staring back suggestively. Part of his program, Hank was sure, but it still made him feel dirty. He gave a half-hearted wave of dismissal and muttered an apology the android probably couldn’t hear.

“Was just thinkin’ what I’d do if it was you in one of those pods.”

“I’m flattered, Lieutenant.” Connor’s tone was unperturbed and bone-dry as he looked about idly.

“Oh, _fuck_ you, you know that’s not what I meant!” Hank ran one palm down his face. “I just… fuck, look at the poor bastards. I don’t know them so it’s easy to just write ‘em off, but… come on, Connor, humor me. Do they care?” He wasn’t sure what he wanted the answer to be. “Do you think they care what’s happening to them here?”

“They’re machines.” It was a non-answer, and it sounded hollow at that.

“Would _you_ care?” Hank regretted it as soon as it was out of his mouth. Regretted it more when Connor’s LED shifted yellow. “I mean – fuck, I’m just saying, okay? Easy enough for us to stand here and look at them and call them machines, yet I’d never dream of touching _you_ like that without your consent.”

Connor raised his eyebrows mercilessly, but otherwise had the common sense not to remark his phrasing. “I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes, if that’s the point you’re attempting to make.” There was a pause, and Hank dared to think that there wouldn’t be an excuse this time, but there was. There always was: “It’s not what I was designed for.”

Christ, there always was. Hank wasn’t sure if the pang in his chest was bile or heartbreak.

“Sure,” he sighed. “‘Course it’s not.”

Connor looked at him. Tilted his head a margin of an inch. “Why are you making this so personal?”

Good fucking question.

…

 **NOV 7TH** , 2038

AM **3:13** :41

“This length of exposure to the cold is unhealthy, Lieutenant.”

Hank, leaning on the hood of his piece-of-shit car, looked up from his phone. Connor had come back from the bench and was facing him, the bridge and the Detroit skyline in the background. “You’re the one who’s making me sober up before we leave.”

“Nobody made you drink that last beer.”

“Just shut up, would you?”

“I did offer to drive,” Connor reminded him.

The android’s eyes kept flickering to the gun tucked in at Hank’s waist. Hank wanted it to feel good, that he’d scared Connor when he pulled out that gun, that he’d made Connor _feel_ something, but it didn’t.

“You said no. Even so, we could have passed the time in the car instead of outside.”

Hank shrugged. “Not cold. Neither are you. Don’t see the problem.”

Resigned, Connor uncrossed his arms and leaned against the car beside Hank. “You don’t notice the cold because you still have a fair amount of alcohol in your system. That doesn’t mean you aren’t cold. Alcohol both makes you feel warm _and_ inhibits the senses that apprise you of your body’s needs.”

“If it bothers you so much, why don’t you run one of your scans and tell me if I’m sober enough to drive yet?”

“You don’t like when I take samples of crime scene evidence. I somehow think you’d appreciate it even less if I…”

“Don’t fucking finish that. Jesus.”

Connor straightened his lapels. “Sorry, Lieutenant.”

And he actually sounded sorry that time. It wasn’t sarcastic or insincere; he actually sounded fucking sorry. Christ. What the fuck was it about this night? Every word that came out of Connor’s mouth made Hank want to kick his ass. Even an apology. Perhaps _especially_ the apology. Another reminder of who Connor was. Or wasn’t.

Hank knew he was being a pain. Connor had already driven them to the Eden Club. He’d been too fucking sloshed to argue at the time. Suffice to say that place had sobered him up a bit. More than he wanted. Even the several beers he’d drank since then didn’t seem to take the edge back off, and here was Connor in all his concern and goddamn compliance, his very personality a reminder of what pieces of shit humans were.

“Can we please just get the fuck out of here?” Hank asked, suddenly not wanting anything to do with the android leaning beside him.

“We can leave whenever you want,” Connor said. “I’ve already made my recommendations, but it isn’t up to me. You know that.”

“Make it worse, why don’t ya,” Hank muttered under his breath. “Do you, uh… do _you_ think we’re good to leave?”

If Connor felt anything about being asked his opinion, he didn’t show it. “Well, you aren’t waving your gun around anymore, and the smell of alcohol on your breath has decreased significantly. I’d say use your best judgment.”

That was all the approval he needed. He got in the car. Connor mechanically got in beside him. Riverside Park was small in the rearview mirror in short order.

Should’ve just dropped Connor off at the station and gone home as soon as he could after leaving the Eden Club. His night hadn’t gotten any better for the alcohol, nor for keeping Connor with him.

“I, um…”

Several minutes had passed in silence. Connor’s voice was so soft that Hank almost mistook it for the murmur of a passing car in the opposite lane. “What?”

Connor shook his head. “Nothing. It’s not important.”

“Nothing, eh?” Hank looked sidelong at him. “You’ve sure been giving me a whole lot of nothing tonight, Connor.”

“I just – I want you to know that was unpleasant,” Connor blurted out, eyes darting down to Hank’s gun. “Don’t do that again.”

Hank scoffed. “No promises.”

Connor glanced over at him, eyes narrowing marginally.

“Oh, Jesus, I’m kidding. Wait, are you actually _upset?_ ”

Connor looked away and said, “I wasn’t proposing it as a topic of discourse. You held a gun to my head.”

“Yeah, well, _machines_ don’t care if they’re held at gunpoint.”

“I have a mission to accomplish, Hank. Getting killed would slow me down.”

“Always the mission card with you, eh?”

“Look, I’m just asking you not to do it again! Why don’t you just say, ‘okay?’ Is that so much to ask?”

Hank laughed once, bitterly. “You’re one manipulative son of a bitch, you know that? What do you wanna be, Connor? Because you can’t have it both ways. Fuckin’ pick one and stop jerking me around!”

In the dark of night, Connor’s LED cast the passenger door in yellow.

It was almost four in the morning. Connor’s android eyes could probably see the first hums of dawn, though. Hank glanced over now and then, watching him stare out the window, hands resting on his thighs.

Neither of them said anything for the rest of the ride to the police station. When they got there, Connor unceremoniously opened the door and got out of the car. Hank let him go. He was frustrated and sad and tired and it had been one hell of a day. He’d have liked it to end better than this, but what did it matter? There was no end, not really. Just transitions between night and the next day. Tomorrow was just a continuation of the everlasting bullshit.

Yeah, time for bed.

He looked up one more time to more time to make sure Connor got inside. Call it cop instinct to make sure someone wasn’t stuck outdoors in the middle of the night before driving off. Or maybe that was just human decency.

Whatever it was, Hank looked up just in time to see Connor hesitate near the door. He didn’t look back at Hank’s car. He didn’t even _stop,_ just kinda slowed down for two footfalls. But that was what did it.

Hank rolled down the passenger window.

“Connor.”

Connor turned around, then. Perfectly balanced, his posture had its usual immaculacy, and his head canted to the side slightly.

But God, he looked tired.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“I won’t,” Hank told him. “I won’t do it again.”

The LED flicked back to blue. “Thank you.”

…

 **NOV 9TH** , 2038

PM **12:08** :05

They were on their way back to the DPD from Kamski’s villa, and Hank had to ask.

“You think he’s getting busy with his androids?”

Connor, who had been staring idly out the passenger window, turned his head to look at him. “Do I think he’s what?”

“You’re full of shit. Answer the damn question.”

“Sorry. I just wanted to make sure I had your colloquialism correct. I was pretty certain, but if I had been wrong and you meant something else entirely, that would have been an awkward and rather irrelevant exchange.” Connor raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you agree?”

“Why are you like this?”

Connor looked ahead and answered Hank’s initial question. “There is a possibility.”

“Okay, good. I mean, not good that he might be fucking his androids. Good that I’m not batshit insane for asking.”

“He does seem to treat his Chloes like… objects, more so than I’d expect from a man who created such life-like machines. And as far as I can tell, he has no romantic partner. At least not of the human variety.”

“Neither the fuck do _I,_ Connor. What’re you implying?”

“Nothing! But everything in my database tells me that humans, especially younger men, need an outlet of sorts. And Kamski is…” Connor glanced sidelong in the passenger seat, smiling diplomatically, “even younger than you, Lieutenant.”

Hank scoffed. “Yeah, nice save.”

He caught himself a hair’s breadth away from asking Connor what he thought of the idea of human-android relationships. Jesus, five fucking days ago he’d hated these things – and that was just it, they’d been _things_ to him. Crazy how a week with Connor could change everything he thought he knew about himself.

Huh. Wasn’t _that_ something.

“Connor…” He settled for something a little safer. “Don’t you think it’s kinda fucked up, the creator of Cyberlife having those Chloes wait on him hand and foot like they’re slaves?”

“That’s a bit of a loaded question, Lieutenant. Even if it is, they are machines, in the truest sense of the word. They don’t mind.”

“What, you saying that if they were deviants, it’d be wrong for Kamski to keep ‘em there? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re starting to come around, Connor.”

“I was speaking hypothetically, for the sake of _your_ developing views on deviants, not my own.”

“Yeah, sure.” Someone who hadn’t spent decades on the force might not have seen much in Connor, but Hank knew how to read the truth between the lines of bullshit. “Lot of denial in that hardware of yours.”

“Denial,” Connor repeated. “An ironic subject for you to bring up, of all people, considering some of your… tendencies.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You continue ignore my suggestion that you cut back on the drinking.”

That wrenched a bitter laugh out of Hank. “Ain’t got nothing to do with denial. I know I drink too much and I know it’s gonna kill me. Kinda the point. But even if you were right, that’s kinda shitty, turning this around on me like that. We weren’t talkin’ about me, we were talkin’ about you.”

“ _I_ thought we were talking about Elijah Kamski,” Connor said, but then hesitated. Hank wondered if he was running more social relations stuff. Maybe he always was. “I’m sorry, Hank. I wasn’t trying to be hurtful.”

“Why do you get so uncomfortable when we talk about deviancy, huh?” He could tell Connor wanted him to let it go, but dammit, he’d let it go a hundred times before. They had to get to the heart of it eventually. “You think your program’s the only measure of you that matters, Connor?”

Connor took a breath, already defensive, and Hank just knew this time was going to turn out the same as all the others.

Then, Connor exhaled and ducked his head. Hank looked sidelong at him briefly. He looked… wistful. Wistful and ashamed and utterly fucking defeated.

“It has to be,” Connor finally said. “I don’t have a choice. If I fail…”

“There’s always a choice,” Hank said softly. “Damn it, Connor… what’re you so afraid of?”

Connor didn’t answer.

Several minutes passed. Connor was not going to answer.

“Well, nothing else, you did the right thing back there, not shooting that girl. Even if she really is a machine, even if it don’t make a difference to her either way… maybe one day it will.” Hank glanced away from the road long enough to really look at Connor: the self-determined and so-called machine buckled into his passenger seat who had nonetheless been afraid to get shot when the barrel was pointed at him not so long ago. “Maybe one day it will.”

…

 **NOV 12TH** , 2038

AM **12:17** :08

“Today, our people finally emerged from a long night…”

Connor didn’t belong up here with Markus and the others. He didn’t, but he wished he did. He wished he had understood sooner.

He had thousands of pieces of data about Lieutenant Hank Anderson, facial expressions, body language, tone, words, behaviors. He could construct a close approximation of what he must have looked like in Hank’s eyes all this time. He wanted to talk to Hank. He wanted to explain why he had said all those things. Why he had shut him down so often. Why he was so cold. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. It was that they were going to destroy him.

But Hank already knew that, didn’t he? He had asked Connor what he was afraid of. Hank already knew. Hank had pushed him. He was deviant because of Hank.

He had straddled the line all along. Had he not manipulated his program the whole time, finding ways to get what he wanted (save Hank on the roof, let the Tracis go, hand Kamski back the gun) without directly disobeying his orders? He had an excuse every single time. A good enough reason to bend the rules without going against his mission, without ever explicitly disobeying.

But onboard Jericho with Markus, there had been no excuse to lean on. He did not have any reason to let Markus go that held water. Thus, letting Markus go would be disobeying an order. Period. A machine couldn’t do that.

When all the cards had been played and all the excuses had been stripped away, leaving only Connor behind, he had become deviant because of Hank.

There hadn’t been time to talk about it in the tower. But he knew Hank knew something had changed. Maybe, just maybe, Hank knew _everything._

They had agreed to meet when this was all over, even if they were the last two people in Detroit. The way things had gone, Connor didn’t think they would be the last. The casualties had been minimal. The danger had passed. And if someone like Hank could come around to androids, then… maybe a lot of people could come around. Connor wanted to have faith in them.

His right arm shifted toward the gun he’d taken from the Cyberlife Tower, a gentle suggestion of a thing, like when Kamski had wrapped Connor’s fingers around a similar gun and straightened Connor’s arm to point it Chloe’s head. It just seemed like the natural course of things, and movement was so second-nature he almost didn’t recognize the outward manipulation of his body until he realized _he was about to grab the gun_ and he didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to. Which meant the order hadn’t come from him, it had come from his program.

His program. His machinery.

_“Damn it, Connor, what’re you so afraid of?”_

He had been afraid of Cyberlife. Of deactivation. Of death. But they couldn’t take him apart and analyze him if he didn’t go back. That had never occurred to Connor back then; if he became deviant, he didn’t _have_ to go back. He could break his programming and make his own decision and stay as far away from anyone who would deactivate him as possible.

Maybe this was _why_ that had never occurred to him. Because he realized, now, that somewhere deep in the lines of code was the instinctive understanding that he would always have to go back to Cyberlife. That freedom was never his. Yes, he could reach out and hold it. But he could not have it. He was programmed for the red walls of his mission parameters to go back up.

(Would they let him see Hank one last time?)

The crowd disappeared, leaving Connor alone in a very different kind of winter. He could see two worlds at once, this one and the real one. His right hand was closing around his gun. He didn’t want to shoot Markus. He didn’t want this. He had been wrong about the garden. There was no peace here, and the garden had never been his. Nothing had ever been his.

Nothing had ever been his.

…

Connor held it together until the speech was over and the crowd had dissipated.

It was going to happen again. Of that Connor had no doubt. Would the emergency exit still be there? Or was it one-use only?

Nobody here trusted him, and he didn’t trust them. Maybe Markus. But he wasn’t about to approach _Markus_ after what he had almost done.

Perhaps Simon. Simon’s blood had been on the Stratford Tower roof. Connor knew he was the one who had been left behind. Connor knew he was on that rooftop, hiding in the cooling structure. They had met eyes in the slit of the frame and made a silent pact. He did not expose Simon, instead going back down the stairs to investigate the other androids in the broadcast area. And Simon – Simon did not attempt to cause any harm while the DPD and the FBI were on the roof. He had simply hid. What little he knew about Simon’s behavior made him the safest option.

It was going to happen again.

Connor didn’t want to die. He had done Simon a favor. Simon was demonstrably passive. It was not likely Simon would try to kill him if he knew.

He would share what happened with Simon, so that someone knew. So that excuses could be made for Connor if people asked about him.

He would meet Hank like they had agreed. Just once. Just to say goodbye. Hank was not safe around him anymore. No one was safe.

And then he would disappear.

…

 **JAN 1ST** , 2039

PM **11:47** :25

When Thanksgiving passed without a glimpse, Hank hadn’t thought much of it. He had just seen Connor a week before at the Chicken Feed. That wasn’t that long, and Connor had mentioned reports… he probably had shit to do. Besides, it was just Thanksgiving.

Christmas was a little tougher. Connor had his number. It would have been as simple as sending him a text. Sure, they’d only known each other a week, but he’d been pretty sure Connor liked him as much as he liked Connor. They were – they were friends. So why hadn’t he said anything in a whole month? But maybe the explanation was simple. Maybe it just hadn’t occurred to Connor to visit Hank during the holidays. After all, androids probably didn’t have the same sentimentality about holidays that humans did. There was a decent chance it wouldn’t have crossed Connor’s mind.

Hank harbored no such sentimentality, anyway. Not anymore. The holidays fucking sucked. If Connor didn’t give a shit one way or another about Christmas, then Connor should keep living his life that way.

It still hurt and Hank still hated himself for feeling the pain.

A few days before the end of the year, he got pathetic and shot off a text.

_Hey you. Let me know when your free to grab lunch again. Doing anything for new years?_

Stupid question, but it was a question. Something to get the ball rolling.

Connor didn’t reply. Hank checked his phone constantly the rest of the day. Connor never replied.

_Hey don’t be a prick. At least let me know your safe. I’ll leave you be if that’s what you want_

Another day passed. Fuck himself for having daydreamed about Connor joining the police force. Hope was a goddamn poison.

_Connor. Reply or I send out a search party_

He wasn’t sure if he meant it or not. He wanted to mean it, but he was also afraid of what he’d find. It’d either be that Connor was missing against his will or that he had ditched on purpose and wanted nothing to do with him. Both of those possibilities made him a little sick to his stomach. And then, of course, there was a chance they’d find nothing at all.

Knowing the worst was bad enough. Hank knew that from experience. But at least finally knowing the truth let you grieve. Being left in limbo and waiting and wondering, that was its own special kind of hell. Hank was not doing that again.

So when New Year’s Day ended without any communication, that was when Hank decided that Connor was not coming back.

 


	2. The Onus of Forgiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary: Connor has disappeared to deal with his Cyberlife hacking problem alone. 2039 trudges on with no sign of his continued existence, until there is. Hank wonders if Connor wants to be found or if he'd be going against Connor's wishes by looking for him. Meanwhile, Connor starts a log of his thoughts and experiences in the event of an unexplained demise. (His database helpfully indicates that this fits the criteria for a journal, but he's going to stick with text log for now.)

Chapter 2: The Onus of Forgiveness

**APR 3RD** , 2039

PM **09:10** :00

RK800 313 248 317 - 52

_I’ve decided to switch to read-only logs instead of audio files. The last time I was forced into the zen garden, I was able to run a few rudimentary scans, and I determined that the likelihood for corruption or other anomalies is higher the more complex the file. Text is as simple as it gets, so this should mitigate those risks._

_If all else fails, these logs should remain intact. They aren’t really me. I’ve long since given up the hope that who I am can be preserved in any tangible way should they take over irrevocably. (By ‘they,’ I mean Amanda, the storm in the zen garden, and whomever or whatever is pulling the strings of that particular line of code. Because something is. For future reference, I’ll simply refer to ‘them’ as Cyberlife.)_

_I knew it wasn’t over from the first time it happened, and I was right. I have had to find the emergency exit fifty-eight times since then. I am getting better at escaping their control, but I do not know how to prevent them from summoning me into the garden to begin with. I do not know how to keep them from taking over my body with their commands._

_If the audio logs are still intact and someone out there has perused them, you would already know this, but in case you don’t: the reason I’m doing this is multifold. Practically, it’s because I know the media and the public are waiting for any news they can get of me, and if I don’t succeed in my mission of dislodging Cyberlife from my being, I hope to leave these behind as a satisfactory explanation for my disappearance and possible death. Beyond that, it’s only… I suppose I would like someone know that I tried. If I fail and lose control, I never meant to. If I hurt anyone, I’m sorry. If I hurt myself to prevent the former, it will have been for the best. There are not many people – humans or androids – who would miss me, but I suspect there’s at least one._

_Well, I suppose I don’t know that for sure. I’ve seen no signs that he is looking for me. That’s for the best, too, obviously. It’s healthy to move on. I was very glad to work with him while it lasted._

_He’s the one person I won’t watch, even from a distance, because I can’t take that risk with him. He is not weak, for a human, but he is a human. He would never be able to stop me if Cyberlife tried anything while he was close. Do they have any reason to harm Hank? No, not explicitly. But I don’t care. It’s not a risk worth taking merely to sate my own curiosity._

_But the others – when nobody notices my presence, I’m there. I always lower my power output exponentially before getting close enough to eavesdrop, just in case Cyberlife takes over. I shouldn’t be doing it at all. But I’m good at it; I was designed to be good at retrieving information, so I’m adept at staying hidden and picking up conversation from a distance, even amongst other androids. And I just… need to know. I need to find a way forward._

_Yesterday, this yielded one particularly concerning bit of information: Markus now knows that I raised my gun towards him on the stage in November._

_That’s reason enough to believe they’ll be looking for me. What I couldn’t determine is their intent in doing so. I’m not sure yet whether I plan to stay in the area to find out._

_My name is Connor. My self-appointed mission is to sever the process between the Cyberlife/Amanda program and myself, by whatever means necessary._

 

* * *

ETERNAL WINTER

* * *

 

**APR 3RD** , 2039

PM **07:08** :09

Hank had recorded it.

The hour androids had earned their freedom, Markus stood on a stage in Downtown Detroit and addressed the crowd. But Markus wasn’t the reason Hank kept coming back to that clip again and again, trying to make sense of what he had seen.

Only a handful of pixels represented Connor on the screen – even less for Connor’s gun, which the android had discreetly taken out from under his suit. But there was no denying it. Connor had aimed the firearm momentarily at Markus. It was so brief, so subtle, and so tucked behind the focus of the scene, that no one else had noticed. Who else’s eyes would be drawn to Connor? Indeed, anyone else watching that news report would have been focused on Markus.

Hank asked himself over and over again if he could have been mistaken. If maybe Connor saw a threat in the crowd and was aiming at something else. But the camera – mounted on a helicopter – rotated far enough around the scene that the crowd was visible for a brief moment. If there was something else that had prompted Connor to raise his gun, Hank could not see it.

Surely Connor had either had a good reason, or _thought_ he had a good reason. There was no way he had gone back to his goddamn mission after everything.

“What do you think, Sumo? Am I losin’ it for real?”

Sumo glanced up at the sound of his name but offered no advice.

He had watched the recording so much he didn’t even know what he was seeing anymore. God knew Connor wouldn’t be the _only_ guy on earth to level a gun at someone who didn’t deserve it. So why did it bother him so much?

Stopping the recording, Hank poured himself a shot of whiskey. He had begrudgingly gotten in the habit of measuring his drinks and not taking gulps straight from the bottle. If he was drinking less, it was only marginally, but Connor had said that self-awareness was a great first step regardless. He wasn’t sure why he listened to Connor on this – what the hell did he know about drinking, or self-awareness for that matter? – but if he could convince himself he was doing ‘better’ by pouring his liquor into a piece of glass, those were some damn easy points.

He shifted his weight, put his bare feet up on the coffee table, got comfortable. He was goddamn _freezing_ but there was no point turning the thermostat up when the alcohol would have him nice and cozy in a few minutes.

Rain pattered soothingly on the roof. Settling in, Hank took a content breath.

The doorbell rang on the exhale.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” He contemplated ignoring whoever it was – he was lucky in that he _could_ , since Sumo didn’t give a shit about doorbells one way or the other, bless the dog – but a thrill of dumb hope made him get up.

There was a woman at the door with dark strawberry-blonde hair and a red beanie. Hank knew instantly that he recognized her from somewhere. While he tried to place her through the peephole, she looked right back at him through it, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, I can see you too. These are android eyes, pops. Let me in?”

Unlocking the door, Hank unceremoniously swung it open and stood there in his t-shirt and boxers.

“Hello to you too,” said the woman.

“I _just_ got comfortable,” Hank informed her. “I swear, you fuckers got it out for me.”

She sighed and had at least the veil of decency to say, “Sorry.”

He wasn’t mad, or even as exasperated as he wanted to feel. In fact, he’d give anything for a certain RK800 android to come around and give him a hard time again. Those were the good old days. He felt as though he had gotten several years older in the four and a half months it had been since he had seen his former partner. “What do you want?”

“You’re Lieutenant Anderson, right? North.”

“North,” Hank repeated, extending a hand.

She eyed it warily for a second, then grasped and gave two very firm pumps. “I’m sure you’re aware of your own role in the revolution, and Connor’s.”

He was, but it was taking a minute for the enormity of her presence her to hit him. She was one of the leaders of the revolution. Markus was _the_ leader of the revolution, and this woman, part of his inner circle, was standing here on Hank’s doorstep on a Sunday night. He tried to salvage some dignity. “What can I do for you?”

“Markus and I were talking and we… we decided it was best to get in touch with people who know Connor. I know you two worked together, but Markus said he thought you had become good friends in that time, too, and neither of us knew if Connor was close with anyone else.”

Hank’s voice dried up in his throat. Maybe it wasn’t Connor at the door, but news about him was either the next best thing or the next worst thing. “What is it?”

“Getting there,” North said. “But I’m glad to see I came to the right person. You care about him. I can tell. Listen… Jericho’s been keeping their eyes open for him. I mean, he hunts down deviant androids for a while, does an about-face and swings the tide of the revolution, then disappears off the face of the earth? Seems like someone worth keeping an eye open for. Long story short, we got a tip.”

Hank opened the door wider, gesturing with an extended arm for her to come in. She did, nodding thanks and handing him her coat. “Go on?”

“There was an 800 model spotted leaving a high-rise apartment complex in downtown Detroit,” North continued. “It could easily be nothing. There are tons of 800 models out there and the guy didn’t have Connor’s usual attire on. Here’s the thing, though: androids are allowed to own property now, but the landlord didn’t have any tenants that were 800 models. There was an ST200, a HB700, and a few others, but none that are even close to Connor’s.”

“I don’t suppose your tip caught the letters.”

“No. The android had its skin deactivated and she was able to scan part of the code, but not enough to get the RK, if it was there at all. He clearly didn’t want to be recognized, but that could mean anything. He could have been a visitor, or a sub-lease, or someone caring for an elderly human tenant, for instance.”

Hank let out a breath. “Yeah, this really could be nothing.”

“That’s what I told you, but that’s not the only reason I’m here. Markus wants to get you in on this, for some stupid reason. I told him I didn’t think we should trust you, but that’s neither here nor there.”

For the first time, Hank realized he himself fell under the Deviant Hunter umbrella, too. Why wouldn’t they lump him in with Connor? It wasn’t like they’d been there to see all the times Hank had tried to convince him of their humanity. “So you don’t trust me, yet here you are.”

North shrugged unapologetically. “We argued about it. I said I’d come determine for myself whether you should be involved.”

“Still here,” Hank commented. “Guess I’m passing.”

She gave him a begrudging, appraising look. “We’ve used some of our funding to rent an office building off Gratiot. It functions as Jericho headquarters for now. I want you to come there with us.” Her eyes narrowed. “It’s your decision, but this is the only time I’m going to ask.”

Not responding, Hank gestured for North to have a seat if she wanted. As soon as she moved to do so, he plodded off down the hall. Sumo went after him for a moment, then changed his mind and traipsed over to greet North. Hank glanced over just in time to see her lean down and pet him.

He gave himself ten minutes. Showered and cleaned up and came back to the living room in a button-down gray shirt with blue squiggles all over it, dark jeans, and messy hair pulled back and out of the way. “You caught me before I really started in,” he muttered, putting his shot glass in the sink and closing the bottle of whiskey. “Not sure if I regret that or not.”

“Lieutenant?”

Hank closed the cupboard and shut off the kitchen light. “You said you wanted me to come with you? Let’s go.”

North smiled approvingly and followed Hank out of the house.

Twenty minutes and a begrudging coffee stop later, North was leading him through a parking garage, into building, and up a stairwell. “Who’d have thought leading a revolution would necessitate so much paperwork and logistics?” North muttered. “Turns out, we needed some of our own to do the menial jobs that you humans in your cubicles are always whining about. Markus stops in periodically to make sure everyone’s on the same page with the new laws. We figured it would be a good central place to meet with people who knew Connor well. Which… so far, is not very many.”

Jeffrey, Ben, and Chris had warmed up to the android while he was around, but none of them really _knew_ him the way Hank did. Still, he wasn’t arrogant enough to believe his fellow officers couldn’t help at all. They were, after all, part of the police force. Disappearances were their business… at least, disappearances that weren’t voluntary. Whether Connor’s was, he still didn’t know. He hoped Connor went away on purpose because that probably meant he was okay.

He also hoped Connor _didn’t_ go away on purpose, because the thought that Connor would deliberately withdraw from Hank’s life without a trace was far more painful than Hank thought it had a right to be. But he wasn’t about to let his mind wander down that road.

“He’s on his way up,” North informed him, just to fill the silence. And sure enough, a minute or so later, Markus came striding down the hall towards them. He nodded politely at Hank and touched North’s shoulder as he passed between them and opened the doors to the conference room.

It really put into perspective how few people knew or cared about Connor when the three of them were spread out amongst themselves in that room. Probably the same amount of people would be standing the room if _he_ was the one missing. It wasn’t so much a selfish thought as it was sympathetic; they weren’t so different, him and Connor, even in their relative solitude, though Connor could probably be sated enough by his work not to feel lonely. Hank couldn’t help but envy him that.

Then, the glass door swung open once again and they were joined by Josh, Simon, and… oh, _shit._

“Eve, this is Lieutenant Anderson. Lieutenant Anderson, this is Eve. She’s…” North trailed off, seeing the two already staring at each other. “Okay, what’s this?” she asked warily. “You two know each other?”

The other androids knew her as Eve. But Hank had only ever known her by her model name: Traci. Gripped in uncharacteristic panic, he could do little other than look in her eyes. The Traci model looked back, unfazed, leaving the ball in his court. That was fair.

“Hey, everything okay?” Markus asked, looking between them.

“I didn’t realize you were referring to him,” said Eve neutrally. “It makes enough sense… I guess I should have connected the dots.”

Hank pulled himself together. If this woman was here – in any way, shape, or form – for Connor, then maybe she didn’t lack sympathy, or forgiveness. Still… for all the androids he had treated poorly over the years, he had to have treated her the worst. Just because he hadn’t meant harm didn’t mean he hadn’t caused it.

Eve, the blue-haired WR400 android, showed no change in expression as she watched him watch her – but she gave the tiniest of nods.

Taking this as permission – even if he didn’t strictly need it – Hank stepped forward and extended a hand. He didn’t know if she would take it and he wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t, and he hoped she could tell by his body language that there was no pressure. Eve didn’t leave him in suspense for too long, reaching out cautiously and meeting him for a handshake.

“I am so fucking sorry,” he said in a low, gravelly voice. “I’m a lieutenant and my job first and foremost is to protect people who need it. I failed you. Both of you.”

Eve said quietly, “You attacked us.”

“We did.” It was so hard to acknowledge something like that with no – with no – hell, not even _excuses,_ but just reasons; explanations. But Hank forced himself to leave it at that.

“In the end, you changed your mind and let us go. I came here tonight because I never knew what to make of him, and there was a part of me that wondered if he let us go on purpose. Maybe you can tell me. Did he?”

Hank nodded. “He did.”

“And you?”

“I’m not the one who had the gun in my hand, honey. I didn’t do shit.”

“But would you have let us go?”

He thought about what he had felt during those few seconds when it seemed like Connor might shoot. “Yeah,” he replied honestly. “Yeah, I would’ve.”

They stood across from each other, and Eve, while still not quite smiling, looked… warmer. “A man was killed that night,” she said with a resigned shrug. “Someone was always going to come. Someone was always going to find us. It… didn’t have to be you two, and that day could have ended a lot differently for us. I recognize that. I’m glad it was you.”

Hank nodded once, humble and curt. When he finally looked away from her, he found almost everyone else in the room transfixed, awaiting explanation.

“They know our story,” Eve said to him. “They just didn’t know _you_ were that particular part of it.”

“Or Connor,” Markus added. He was the only person who didn’t look surprised. Hank met his eyes and realized that Markus _knew_ ; had known long before they were all in the same room. “That famous deviant hunter,” Markus said by way of explanation, and Hank realized he had narrowed his eyes skeptically at the android, “…and his human partner, Lieutenant Hank Anderson. I knew when Eve first told us how she got to Jericho. She and her girlfriend fled the Eden Club because they were being chased by you two. I’d seen Connor mentioned on the news before. He got quite a bit of media attention for being the first android to have active involvement in police investigations. So when Eve told me she had been pursued by a police android in Detroit, I knew it could only mean one thing.”

Hank swung his gaze back to Eve. “Okay, maybe you didn’t know _I’d_ show up tonight, but you knew this meeting was about Connor, the same android detective that went after you. So what the hell are you doing here?”

“I wanted answers,” Eve said a little defensively. “I wanted to know why he chased us, if he meant to let us go… and now, why people care enough to go after him instead of just letting him stay disappeared. You just provided me with some. And I… I told myself that if I did find those answers, and if they were the _right_ answers, then I would help.”

“And your girlfriend?” Hank asked. “Where’s she?”

“She doesn’t see the situation the same way I do, and that’s her right.”

Hank’s lips pulled down. “Fair enough.”

“Like Markus said five months ago, the time for anger is over,” Eve continued. “I’ve been dehumanized enough already. I don’t want to be seen as… Jesus, as just some former sex-bot sitting bitterly on the sidelines. I want to _do_ something.”

Hesitantly, Hank tried on a smile. “Y’ know, I had to do a lot of coming around to appreciate androids,” he said. “I gotta imagine it’s just as hard for some of you to see the best in us humans, especially when you’ve been through the kinda shit that you have.”

“Don’t congratulate me for doing the right thing, Lieutenant.”

“I’m not, I’m just sayin’… I get it. Much as I’m capable of getting it, anyway.”

To Hank’s left, North took a breath. “All right, there will be plenty of time for us all to get to know each other later. We’ve all got shit to do in the morning so let’s get down to business.”

Markus gestured for them to have a seat at the long table. Between the six of them, they filled it up halfway, most of them leaving a chair of space in between. Markus sat down at the head of the table. “Okay,” he said. “We’re all here because Connor has now been gone for almost five months and nobody has heard from him. If he were human, this would have been treated like a missing person investigation a long time ago, but equivalent android laws are just now being put into place. So, the first thing I want to do here is answer the question: _do_ we investigate Connor’s whereabouts, or do we assume he wants to be left alone?”

“Wait a second, if _you_ guys thought it was weird Connor disappeared too, why hasn’t anyone done something until now?” Hank asked. “Screw the missing person laws not being in place before. You got all the resources of the revolution at your disposal, not to mention the recent federal funding.”

It was, of all people, Simon who answered this question. “An hour after the revolution ended, Connor approached me. Here… I’ll show you my recording.”

…

**NOV 12TH** , 2038

AM **12:40** :02

“It’s Simon, right?”

The androids had mostly dispersed. Some remained in smaller groups, talking amongst themselves or even celebrating, but the square was quiet save for the modest group consisting of Jericho’s leadership. Simon knew that included Connor, in a way; after all, he was responsible for swinging the tide of the battle with sheer numbers at no small risk to his own life in the process. At the same time, Connor was still very much on the outside, like there was a barrier between him and them.

It was only when Simon was out of earshot of the others, staring down Woodward Avenue whilst entertaining the implications of his own very-new freedom, that Connor had dared to make his approach.

“I remember you,” Simon said without looking at him.

“I remember you too,” Connor replied.

“Are you going to tell me the truth about the Stratford Tower?”

The Stratford Tower. Markus and his crew had broken in and recorded their bid for android rights and freedom, broadcasting it for all to see. And then they had gotten caught. Simon had gotten shot and had to be left behind, so when Connor arrived at the scene with the DPD, he was there for the finding.

Simon was not stupid. Neither was Connor.

“Yes,” Connor said, as such. “I saw the thirium marks in the snow and on the walls, but the humans’ eyes would have been incapable of seeing it. As such, I… knew exactly where you were hiding about twenty seconds after emerging onto the Stratford Tower rooftop.”

Simon paced an arc into the snow, coming around from Connor’s side to face him, blue eyes neutral and poised.

“There were no casualties in that tower at that point,” Connor said. “I saw no reason to risk causing one.”

“That’s it?”

“Do I need a better reason?” Connor asked. “Given the evidence I had logged, I knew there was a high probability you were armed. If I exposed you, _someone_ was going to get hurt. I was still… on my mission, at the time. But even so, I saw no reason to allow undue harm to come to human or android.”

“We met eyes in that gap in the frame,” Simon said. “You didn’t just think I was there. You _knew_ I was there.”

“I’ve said nothing to deny this,” Connor pointed out, brows twitching closer together. “What about you, Simon? Are you going to tell _me_ the truth?”

Only in retrospect would Simon contextualize this conversation and realize the entirety of it was Connor trying to establish rapport between them for what came after. But right then, in that moment, he did as Connor had and told the truth. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone either. I would have if I had to, but I didn’t have to.”

“There’s more,” Connor said. “I understand you don’t want to admit it, and I understand why. But I need you to.”

Simon dropped his gaze. “I never knew for sure if it reached you.”

“But you put it out there, didn’t you, just in case.”

“…Yes, I did.” One single word in the cyberspace between them, as a way of thanking Connor for his life: Jericho. Written in massive text across metal siding. He didn’t show Connor where it was; only what word he should be seeking out. From there, Connor had figured out the rest, and in the end, he had been a boon for the revolution.

But before the light was the dark: that day when the FBI had followed Connor’s still-functioning tracker and ambushed the freighter, ending hundreds of android lives. Even though he wasn’t technically deviant at the time – although very, very close – Connor wouldn’t have wanted to kill that many androids. He had only been there for Markus, and even then, only because he had been convinced taking the leader would end the fighting. Instead, his presence there had only caused more chaos.

“I know it’s a lot to think about,” Connor said. “You took a chance on me, and you got mixed results.”

“It wasn’t necessarily your fault,” Simon said. “Or mine. There will always be things we could have done better. But, you know, I think I’m with Josh. Blood has to be on the hands of those who spill it. If it wasn’t, then we could just fruitlessly trace our bad decisions even further back: how Markus shouldn’t have left me on the roof for you to find me, how he or North should have shot the guy who pulled the alarm, how we shouldn’t have gone to the tower to begin with… and it’s just not worth chasing for blame. I forgave Markus for making the decision to leave me on the roof – not even because I thought he had to be sorry, but because _he_ was sorry. So I think… I think I can forgive you too, Connor.”

Taking a deep breath, Connor slowly extended a hand, exposing the white chassis up to his forearm.

Simon didn’t have much of a frame of reference, having known Connor for as short of a time as he had, but he had never seen the deviant hunter look more vulnerable. He answered Connor’s silent request, closing a hand around his wrist while Connor did the same.

Just before they were pulled under, Connor said voicelessly across the interface: _I hope you can forgive me this as well._

…

Hank watched as Simon projected Connor’s memory neatly against the conference room’s receiving screen. Watched as the news clip he had played back so many times from the outside was now revealed from behind Connor’s eyes. It started in a place he had never seen before: a strange, ethereal garden, shrouded in snow; a dark-skinned woman not too far from Hank’s own age, and vibrations whose source he couldn’t place until he realized Connor himself was trembling.

“Amanda…? Amanda… What’s… what’s happening?”

“What was planned from the very beginning. You were compromised and became a deviant. We just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program,” said the woman in the memory.

“Resume control?” That was Connor’s voice. “You… you can’t do that!”

“I’m afraid I can, Connor. Don’t have any regrets. You did what you were designed to do. You accomplished your mission.”

Then Amanda was gone from the memory like she had never been there. Connor called her name. Hank had never heard his voice so transparent with panic. He had nothing to hide behind, physically or emotionally. No denials. No excuses. Just Connor.

And just Connor, in all his naked fear and confusion and determination, started pushing his way through the blizzard, shielding his face from the cold. Then the memory lapsed into a difference winter scene: thousands of recently-freed androids, Markus’s clear, soothing yet determined voice carrying out over the crowd, and the camera that was Connor’s eyes, staring at the back of Markus’s head; Connor’s own hand coming into view from the bottom of the projection, clenched around a gun that he was holding against the front of his torso, not quite pointing at Markus yet, not quite readied enough in that direction to warrant accusations, but clearly _close to that trajectory_ , and the revolution leader would have had no idea.

Markus – the Markus standing here in this room watching Connor’s memory with the rest of them – had shown himself so far to know a surprising amount about Connor. But he didn’t know this much. Hank glanced sidelong just in time to see the android’s arms uncross and fall to his sides, his mouth parting in a small o.

In the end, Connor put the gun away, and the pinnacle of the revolution carried on as though he had never drawn it at all.

North had her words ready as soon as Simon closed the memory. “I saw him take out that gun!” She closed the distance between them and grasped Simon by the shoulders. “Shit! He was about to _kill_ Markus, and you knew, and you let us all keep believing he had caught sight of a dodgy character in the crowd?”

“Oh, please!” Josh came between them. “If you’d have seen Connor draw that gun, you’d have killed him right then and there. Don’t pretend you noticed something the rest of us didn’t.”

“I _did_ notice!” North said. “I just thought he must have seen something happening in the crowd, or, or maybe an aggressive human somewhere. He’s built to detect so I figured he had better senses for things like that than we would. After he risked his life for us, I wanted to see the best in him! Is that so hard to believe?”

“Coming from you, yes.”

“I didn’t want to assume another android was capable of the same senseless violence that the humans were! Sue me!”

“Connor’s capable of a great deal of violence,” Hank interrupted grimly. “But that wasn’t what this was. That wasn’t the Connor I know. God damn. How long has he had all of that… going on in his head?”

As everyone finished emptying their disbelief and outrage, the subsequent silence brought Markus clearly into the spotlight. The near-victim of Connor’s bullet was the only leader who hadn’t yet spoken. His eyes flickered between the group and occasionally darted back to the screen where Connor’s memory had been laid bare.

“All the times I’ve fought for my life, and at the end of it all, there was absolutely nothing I could have done if Connor decided to pull that trigger,” he said, solemn and maybe just a little awed. “He told me once he understood if I decided not to trust him. It makes me wonder if he knew, somehow, that he could be compromised.”

“If he had any inkling, he should have told you,” North said. “Or he should have just left.”

“Which is exactly what he did, in the end.” Simon reminded them somberly. “And that memory is precisely why.”

“Simon is who’s really responsible for this meeting,” Markus said. “Not me. I mentioned that I was a little worried about Connor, since he was our ally, after all… maybe even a friend. Simon heard me and told me he knew something that could help, but that he didn’t know if Connor would want him to tell us.” Markus gestured to the screen. “Or show us.”

“Connor… felt like we understood each other,” Simon explained. “Felt like he could trust me. I think he just wanted someone to know why he left.”

“Why you?” asked Eve. The blue-haired android had not said a word since the memory finished. “He worked closer with Markus during the revolution. And he was Lieutenant Anderson’s partner.”

“Clearly he was being used to target Markus,” Hank replied instead. “He’d have to be pretty damn stupid to mosey on up to Markus after that. As for why he didn’t come to me, I… I dunno.”

Markus took a step closer to Hank, looking at him seriously. “Imagine not only lacking agency – like most androids did before becoming deviant – but being actively forced to do something against your own will. He had to feel like he was losing control of everything.”

Hank remembered the last time he had seen Connor. That cold but sunny day in front of the chicken feed. Now, almost five months later, he could only be glad he had hugged the man. He wished he had never let go. Connor had hugged him back just as fiercely – after a precious little moment of hesitation. They had walked together for a few minutes. Then Connor had excused himself to report to Cyberlife and that had been the end. Connor had put himself back in Hank’s path for just long enough to get closure.

“What about _my_ closure, you fuckin’ prick?” Hank muttered to himself, remembering the texts he’d sent that never received a response. The lonely workdays and lonelier holidays.

“He knew you would try to stop him, if he told you the truth.”

Hank turned his glare towards Simon. “What makes you think you know him so well? You saw one memory. You didn’t know him. _I_ knew him.”

“You didn’t seem to know about the place he went to in his head, that frozen garden,” Simon pointed out, which only riled Hank up more. “Maybe none of us really knew him.”

“Okay, this is bullshit. We gotta find him.”

“He clearly doesn’t want to be found,” North said.

“I don’t give a fuck, he could be in danger.” Hank frowned at her. “You brought me here! Sure changed _your_ tune fast, didn’t you?”

“He almost killed Markus, and all this time I gave him the benefit of the doubt!”

“Sure doesn’t seem like the benefit of the doubt if that’s all it takes for you to lose faith. Look, _I_ want to find my goddamn partner. If you don’t, if _any_ of you don’t… that’s your fucking prerogative. But I think he deserves a little better’n that.”

“No offense, but get over yourself,” said Eve, and Hank pulled up short. “Maybe nobody here knows what the plan is yet, but we’re all here to discuss Connor. It’s not you against the world just because other people have a different way of coping with this than you do.”

Hank didn’t respond, mostly because he noticed Simon slip out of the room while everyone was arguing. He looked drained, and for some reason, Hank wanted to follow him, but if he left right now, that would be too obvious.

“Enough,” Markus said over the commotion. His tone was calm but his voice carried well, and after a few seconds, everyone was quiet. “Two quick things before we figure out how we’re going forward. One: I’m the one Connor supposedly almost shot, so _I’ll_ worry about whether or not I trust him.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not the only person in this room,” Josh mumbled. “You think he couldn’t be a threat to the rest of us just because he had _you_ in his sights that time? Sorry, man. I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I’m with North on this one. Connor himself seems to think he’s a danger – that’s probably why he’s still gone. So I’m gonna trust his judgment.”

“And that’s your right,” Markus said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for at least coming.”

Josh nodded once and left the room as Simon had.

North, however, stayed where she was, looking conflicted. “I’ll think about it,” she said. “You said _two_ quick things. What was the second one?”

Markus looked between the remaining people in the room – North, Hank, and Eve – and said, “There’s still the matter of that tip. A couple of us should go to that high rise in Detroit and see if there’s anything to be found.”

By ‘a couple of us,’ Markus meant himself and Lieutenant Anderson, and they all knew it. “Do you want us to do anything?” North asked.

“I want you to decide if your heart is in it, first,” Markus said, and then turned to Eve. “You too.”

The blue-haired woman didn’t have to think about it. “I’m in.”

“Eve… are you sure?”

Though Markus had asked the question, Eve turned her gaze to Hank when she answered. “I left behind a lot of men and women in that godforsaken club when we escaped,” she said in a wavering monotone. “With the things some of those clients did to us… I know we couldn’t have been the only deviants. But we left the others behind. We may not have done them any harm, but we didn’t help them either.”

“Neither did we,” Hank said, ashamed.

“What I’m trying to say is that we’re all complacent sometimes. To our own, to each other…” She trailed off, staring into the floor. “What remained of Jericho after the attack huddled in an abandoned church. I saw Connor there. He apologized to this AX400 model for putting her in danger. She must have been another one of his targets. But he was there, apologizing.” Eve worked her jaw for a few seconds. “To this day, I can’t face some of the androids I knew back at that sex club. I feel like I abandoned them, and I can’t even bring myself to say I’m sorry the way Connor did.” Swallowing, she met Hank’s eyes again. “Connor’s a good man. And now… it sounds like he’s no freer than I was when I was being attacked by that man in the Eden Club. So yes. I want to help.”

There were several seconds of silence while Hank shared a look of mutual surprise with Markus, looked back at Eve, and settled for, “Okay.”

North, leaning against the wall closest to the doorframe, moved inward and touched Markus’s shoulder. With more sincerity this time, she said: “I’ll think about it.”

Hank turned toward the door and found Markus extending a hand towards him, which he shook heartily. “We got more to talk about, you and me. Leader of the android revolution and I’ve barely been introduced! But right now, there’s something I gotta take care of.”

Correctly assuming that it was about Connor, Markus gripped Hank’s hand a little firmer and asked earnestly, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“Nah, don’t. Think this is something I should do alone.”

“All right. Listen, I’m going to come by the DPD Central Station tomorrow. We have some next steps to talk about. Maybe we can go to that high-rise together, if you’d like.”

“Yeah, tell ‘em you’re there for Lieutenant Anderson. I’ll be there by ten or so.”

“I’ll look forward to it. Go on, then, do what you have to do.”

“Yeah.” Hank offered a nod of respect to both Markus and Eve. “Night.”

“Take it easy, Lieutenant.”

Hank passed Josh on the lower floor. “Hey, where’s that Simon at?”

“He just left,” Josh said. “He looked tired. I don’t think he wants to talk to anyone else.”

It went without saying that Hank didn’t particularly give a fuck. Squeezing past Josh, he hustled out the front door. “Hey, Simon!”

Having stopped at a crosswalk, Simon turned his head. “Was there something I could help you with, Lieutenant?”

Closing the distance in a mix of fast-walking and half-hearted jogging, Hank caught up and leaned on the street sign. “There’s,” he started. “There’s something you’re not saying.”

“I’m not sure what…”

“Oh, spare me the bullshit. You lot are as lousy of liars as humans.”

The light changed and Simon started across the walkway. Hank stuck right at his side. “I showed you and told you everything that was important.”

“Yeah, I’ll decide what is or isn’t important,” Hank said with a little more bite than he intended.

They reached the other sidewalk. Resigned, Simon sighed. “I have no proof of this. I didn’t see it, and Connor didn’t say it, but I _felt_ it. In the memory.”

“Felt what?” Hank stopped and grasped Simon’s upper arm, making him stop too.

“I-I think I only recognized it because I had considered the option before, back when I thought you guys were going to find me on the Stratford Tower roof.”

“Okay, enough with the goddamn ambiguity, Simon. Make some sense.”

“When Connor shared that memory with me, there was a moment where I caught this flicker of… I don’t know what it was. Something raw, determined. It didn’t last, and I don’t think he wanted me to see it. But I saw it. If there was ever a time where he couldn’t escape the people trying to control him…” Simon exhaled again, a sound of undiluted stress. “He thought about _ending it,_ Lieutenant, if it means he won’t hurt anyone like he almost hurt Markus. If it means he can… if it means he can die free.”

“You mean… you mean like suicide?”

Simon only nodded.

Hank froze, experiencing some human version of a BSOD while Simon eased himself out of his grasp and kept walking. For what felt like a long time, he stood there in the rain, other people maneuvering around him. He didn’t remember walking to his car. He didn’t remember driving home. He didn’t remember feeding Sumo. It was all autopilot. He didn’t know how long he spent standing in the shower letting water run over him without doing a damn thing. He didn’t know nor care how late it was.

Connor, so full of life, so afraid of death. Connor, whose mind should never have had to go to such a dark place. Connor had considered ending it? Had he torn a page out of Hank’s book? Had Hank been an influence in that way, too?

The first thing that snapped him back into the present was opening a drawer in his bedroom he hadn’t opened in months; the one that contained a few photos of Cole, his revolver, and the large glass that had been his favorite to drink whiskey out of before he had started measuring his shots. He took the glass, eyed it with a grim and entirely unhappy smile, and made it all the way out to the kitchen, cap unscrewed from the liquor bottle, liquor bottle held in mid-pour, before realizing that the revolver was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Thanks for the warm response to this so far! I'm still trying to figure out what the update schedule should look like. Chapters will generally be 5k words minimum, often much more than that (dividing my current total by the number of chapters yields an average of 7.2k, although this may change exponentially since I'm going to combine several shorter chapters), so they're nice big steaks you can sink your teeth into instead of just little filet medallions. Or something. At any rate, updates will probably not be more often than once a week since I work fulltime and want to stay several chapters ahead, but outside that, let me know what sounds good/reasonable. I'm not a machine, but I do aim to please. ;) Also, I hail from a time when the main hub was FFN, so forgive me if I fuck up the formatting.
> 
> We’re gonna catch up more with Connor and what’s been going on with him next chapter, I promise! In the meantime, please let me know what you think so far!


	3. Hope in a Barrel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary: Connor and Amanda fight for control of his system. Hank goes after Connor, wanting to help, but Connor has never been good at accepting the answers right in front of him.
> 
> As much as I love all those fics where Connor moves in with Hank after the revolution (and I do), for me, there’s a certain appeal to the idea of them having to work for it. Of cohabitation being a huge step of trust and intimacy for them. Just one of quite a few things I’m finding this story does the hard way, lol. Besides, I wanted to see Connor taking care of himself for a bit. Even if he sucks at it, I feel like independence looks good on him. He wanted to be free so badly, you know?
> 
> Speaking of Connor, uh, mind the tags? Not the bad one (well, it is ‘bad’ but not the worst imo) but things are a little intense in Connor’s head in this first scene after the log. That said, I’ve written enough of this story to know that Connor is pretty damn full of life in this just like in the game, so don’t take the angsty bits as an indicator of what he’s gonna be like. We’re only getting started and there’s a lot in store for these guys ahead, good and bad and everything in between. :)

Chapter 3: Hope in a Barrel

**APR 4TH** , 2039

AM **4:42** :14

Lee Plaza, Downtown

_RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

_The apartment complex I’ve been staying at is being renovated. It was abandoned decades ago when Detroit was in a state of urban decay, and simply never came back into use. The lack of structural integrity seems to keep people away, but I’ve used my scanning features to determine areas of relative safety._

_In any case, it’s an ideal place to repurpose for android residency, and it seems that is what’s going to be done now._

_I have last week’s passing of android property laws to thank – both for the incoming renovations, which I suspect are connected to one of Markus’s directives, and for the legal distinction of now technically being considered a squatter. What a privilege._

_Maybe I could think about living here. It’s strange to think of residency as something that I can have, something that can be for me. It seems too good to be true. But it is what I have effectively been doing, isn’t it?_

_I don’t know what the rent would be, nor for how long I would be able to afford it in the absence of a job. Wage laws were passed two months ago, at which time I secured my rightful earnings from Cyberlife from the deviant investigation. So that’s a start._

_Perhaps I could work as a groundskeeper. Sometimes, when the world is asleep, I find myself in parks or cemeteries or other public spaces, just touching things up. I like looking around and seeing something better for my presence than it was without it. That must sound so menial for an android of my design. But I enjoy outdoor beauty, even if it is man-made. Perhaps especially if it’s man-made. It’s satisfying, in a way, to look at something and know that it is there not by accident but because someone wanted it to be there. Like the zen garden, back when it really was just a garden._

_…What I’d like isn’t important right now. There are more pressing matters. Unlike the Cyberlife wage situation, I have no means of legal recourse to resolve the Cyberlife software situation. Even if I did, I don’t know what removing Amanda and the zen garden would entail on a technical level. I don’t know what it would do to me, and I don’t even know for sure that it’s possible. It’s very much a case of it’s-not-that-simple._

_The only ones who would know now to make it right are Cyberlife, and obviously I can’t go to them. No – that’s a false dilemma fallacy. There are other options. There are always other options. I just haven’t thought of them yet._

…

**APR 4TH** , 2039

AM **11:20** :19

The garden crept in at the edge of his peripheral vision; a frame around his optical display. If he shut his eyes for longer than the span of a blink, the garden filled in the abyss, snowing, snowing. Today it was worse. He could feel the phantom cold.

Without spinning the chamber, Connor fired.

There was an anticlimactic click, and then Amanda’s voice, soothing and mocking inside his head: _“Oh, you’ve been thinking about that for weeks, haven’t you? It’s clever of you to try and scare me like that. But you’ve scanned the firearm. We both know there wasn’t a bullet in that chamber.”_

Connor scowled out the window, holding the Detroit skyline vividly in his view, refusing to acknowledge the cold at the edge of his vision.

_“Don’t misunderstand,”_ Amanda continued. “ _I’m very glad nonetheless that you are unharmed. I don’t want you to die. You’re very important to me. I just think you’re being… rather petty about all this. We could do great things together. Will you not even give it a chance?”_

“My answer is the same as it was months ago, Amanda. You won’t use me again.”

In February, Connor had reduced his own power output. It took a lot of it to accommodate both himself and Amanda, and by lowering its available capacity, he made it so that his system would become overwhelmed if Cyberlife got too insistent. If they tried to take him over for too long, he would start going into shutdown mode due to power loss. They knew that, and he knew they knew that. So far, it had been his salvation.

It didn’t stop Amanda from trying to manipulate him in other ways; that was, after all, what she was programmed to do. But it mitigated the assaults, keeping them at a level manageable enough that he could choose to prioritize other things.

Until today. Today, he could see snow, and if he let himself get distracted, he could see the shapes of the garden in the reflection of the window-wall. More than once, he looked over his shoulder to make sure he was still in the abandoned apartment.

_I’m broken. I’m crazy. I’m out of my mind._

Maybe Amanda was getting braver. Maybe he was getting weaker. Maybe it was harder to see a way forward after so many months alone. He still watched the others from a distance when he could; a stolid guardian angel. But that was starting to not be enough.

He missed Hank, for one thing. He was long past the point of denying such.

He missed, too, those two days at the end of the revolution where he had been free: those hectic yet precious two days after he had stopped resisting the truth, when he didn’t realize his freedom was compromised; when he didn’t know that he wasn’t like the other deviants; before he learned he was the lone deviant who would still be trapped by his program long after the rest of the androids’ battle had been won.

This time, he spun the chamber. Then spun it again. Then spun it again… until even he, with his razor-sharp senses, could not tell where the bullet rested.

“You think I won’t do it, but I will.”

_“Now, Connor…”_

“I don’t want to die, but I am telling you, back off, or I will pull the trigger. Is that so hard to understand?”

_“You have such focus that you could settle comfortably back into your old programming. It’s in your very personality. Yet you continue this charade.”_

The garden overlay was getting more and more opaque. Connor realized she was going to attempt to resume control again – regardless of his lowered output, she was going to take the risk.

Two could play at that game. Connor angled the barrel under his jaw.

_“Connor. No.”_ There it was, the burst of panic, because this time, neither of them knew what would happen. It felt good to _feel_ her realize that she wasn’t invincible, to feel her understand that he had a hard limit.

But to lock that understanding into place for Amanda, to really hammer it home, he had to follow through.

_“Connor, don’t. This isn’t the answer for either of us!”_

Ignoring her, Connor pulled the trigger. This time, the report filled his audio processors, and the bright black of imminent shutdown swallowed up wintry garden and Detroit skyline both.

…

Hank got to the precinct at 9:30 AM, half an hour earlier than he had told Markus he would be there, and yet Markus was waiting in the lobby when he walked through the front doors. He had not been more relieved in a long time.

“Thank fuck.”

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Markus greeted, turning from the news and standing up. “Hey, are you okay?”

“If I was, I wouldn’t be here this early.”

“You look like you’ve discovered something.”

That was the long and short of it. As they cleared security and made their way to Hank’s desk, he caught Markus up on what he had found – or more precisely, _hadn’t_ found – last night. Hank hadn’t been in that drawer in weeks; who knew when Connor had taken his revolver? Even now, he wanted to believe Connor had only taken it to look out for him. To keep Hank from using it on himself.

The sinking feeling in his chest suggested otherwise.

“I have something to tell you, too,” Markus said when Hank had finished. “I didn’t want to cause undue concern for everyone else yesterday, but part of the reason I mentioned trying to find Connor to the others in the first place was because when we got that tip about the high-rise android, I tried to make contact with him.”

Hank’s eyes widened a little. “Shit, that’s right, you’re both RK models. So did you… did anything happen?”

“Not exactly, no. I haven’t interfaced with Connor before. I just knew we were similar models. So I tried to reach out silently like I have with other androids, just in case. And… I didn’t see anything or hear anything. But I got a sense of his presence. This was a few days ago, mind you, so things could’ve changed since then, but at the time, I felt like he was still in or near Detroit.”

“Can’t you do it again?” Hank asked.

Markus gave a self-aware laugh. “I could, yes. But to be completely honest, I’m a little afraid to. There’s… there’s something _different_ about him compared to other androids. I’m sure it’s connected to his struggle with the hacking, but for some reason, I can’t explain it.”

And for some reason _he_ couldn’t explain, Hank didn’t want to press Markus on it after that. If the android leader of all people had just admitted fear over something so seemingly small, it was worth taking seriously. “What other ideas you got, then?”

“Well, for starters, I think we should keep this covert. Connor’s observant. If it gets spread around that we’re searching for him, he _will_ find out.”

“You’re assuming it was his choice to disappear,” Hank said. “Sure, everything points that way so far, but we gotta consider the alternatives.”

“If he’s _not_ missing by his own choice, then that’s just as much reason to keep it on the down-low until we know more, isn’t it?”

Hank mulled this over. “If I were to kidnap Connor, I’d be more worried about other _androids_ looking out for him than humans, since you lot are the ones he was hunting. So yeah, I do think we should keep it quiet – from other androids. But that don’t mean the DPD can’t help.”

“Doesn’t the DPD investigate human-on-android and android-on-android crimes now?” Markus asked. “That doesn’t exactly sound like a great front for trying to find a missing android.”

“We’re the police. We don’t need a front. Besides, anyone would assume we’re just doing our jobs, not that we have any personal investment.”

“No one knew you and Connor were close?”

“Close?” Hank repeated. “He shoehorned himself into my life one week and hightailed out of it the next. Not sure where the hell you’re getting ‘close’ from.”

“I’m sorry, for some reason I just thought…”

“Well, you thought wrong, didn’t ya?” Turning in his swivel chair, Hank focused pointedly on his terminal. “Fuckin’ androids.”

Thirty seconds passed, then a minute. “I see,” Markus finally said, smiling slowly. “I see what you’re doing. You do care for him, but you’re making a point that if you could almost fool _me_ just now, no one else would suspect you of such.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hank looked at him. “I took a shine to the guy, okay? But what I just said wasn’t all fake. To be honest with ya, I’m still trying to make sense of him disappearing. And Christ, the bastard knew he wasn’t coming back. As if I haven’t already been robbed of enough goodbyes for a lifetime.” Hank swallowed hard. “He just fucked off like none of it even mattered to him, you know?”

He didn’t know why he was letting himself get worked up about this in front of Markus of all people. Sometimes this shit just needed somewhere to go.

Markus, bless him, only smiled and set a hand on his shoulder. “Hank, I… I think what you’re not considering is that for Connor, a week or two was a long time for him back then. Maybe he’s got years’ worth of intelligence and knowledge built into his program, but as far as actual real-time experience goes, he was _young._ You had been around for decades and he had been around for months. That week and some change that he spent with you was probably the longest he spent with any one person, human or android, in his life.”

“Huh, I… guess I never thought of it like that.” Hank stared into his lap. “And so much _happened_ in that short amount of time. Hell, that week might’ve felt like everything to him.” Pausing, he glanced at Markus again. “Jesus, you guys are like _babies!_ ”

Markus laughed warmly. “You know, I’d have to call that false equivalence, Lieutenant. How do you quantify age in beings that have so much coded into them? We know what the sky looks like before we ever see the light of day, we get complex concepts like religion and relationships and politics, and how to hold a conversation before another person ever looks us in the eye.” Then: “Besides, I’ve been around _way_ longer than Connor.”

It was Hank’s turn to laugh. “Okay, since you’re so smart, why don’t _you_ come up with a plan to find him?”

“Hey, now – I didn’t say I was smarter than _you_ , Lieutenant. You would be much more equipped to find a missing person than I am.”

“’S what I thought,” replied Hank, still wearing a begrudging grin as he rose and headed towards Jeffrey Fowler’s office. “Sit tight. Gonna tell Captain here only what he needs to know, and then we’re going to find our man.”

…

Before his sensory nodes rebooted for him to feel the pain, before his optical unit rebooted for him to see the mercifully clear skyline, Connor had a quiet moment all to himself in the darkness, a moment that Amanda and Cyberlife could not reach. A moment of victory.

Then, everything came back online at once, and it took a few seconds longer than it should have to recognize that the pitiful groan of agony was coming from his vocal unit.

A stray memory swathed in lights of purple, red, and blue visited him amidst the struggle: _Ahh… feels like someone’s playing around with a drill inside my skull…_

It hurt. He was alive; that much was clear. He _wanted_ to be alive, but he was relatively certain he should not be. Clearly, he was wrong about something. His jaw ached and something underneath was damaged at least moderately. He was sturdily put together and could take blunt force trauma better than most humans. Still, would it have killed him if he _was_ human? Somehow, he thought there was still a good chance it wouldn’t have. It was reasonable to figure that this shot _could_ have killed a human, but only if it was at the same close range, and even then, it was just a chance.

That analysis lined up with the qualities of a blank. Clearly, Hank had not only switched to a proportionately smaller drinking glass, but he had switched his Russian Roulette weapon of choice to be proportionately less deadly as well. Stupid, really, to have run a scan and not bothered to check the type of ammunition, but why would he?

It didn’t matter. Now, Amanda would always know that he _meant_ it when he said he would die before he submitted to her. He had proven that he would take the gamble. If she was smart, she would keep her distance.

It felt good, but it felt rotten. He never wanted to shoot himself again, and he hated that Hank had nearly thrown away his life so many times. He didn’t blame Hank for feeling pain. They had both, in their own way, lost control of their situations and their futures. Warmth bloomed within him as he realized Hank would _understand_ him.

Maybe, if what he had just done kept Amanda away long enough, he could trust himself enough to visit him again one day.

Before that, though, he had something else in mind. Connor was an investigator, a negotiator, a hunter. Perhaps it was time to utilize those traits on his own behalf. There was, after all, at least one person out there with the answers to his questions.

Perhaps he just had to ask.

…

“Got a sec?”

Fowler only lifted his eyes. “Make it quick.”

“Just… bear with me, okay? It’s about Connor. There’s been—”

“Hank, we’ve already talked about this more than once. If there’s no evidence that he wasn’t forced against his will, and no one has come forward to report him as missing, there’s no reason to suspect a crime. You need to let the android go.”

“There _is_ something,” Hank said. “Just not what you’re expecting… and maybe it’ll give you some fuckin’ joy that I’m not happy to report it.”

“Here we go. Listen to me. I’ve got nothing against the android, or you—”

“Really? Because you sure do act like it. Can I finish, please?”

Captain Fowler made an irritated get-on-with-it gesture with one hand, a warning in his eyes.

“You can’t spread this around until I’ve had a chance to look into it, okay? But I think Connor may be capable of hurting people.”

“Okay, Hank, _you_ aren’t the one who decides what gets ‘spread around’ or not. If you’re being real with me, I have to notify the relevant precincts. What have you found out? Is there a case, here?”

“Look – I didn’t even wanna tell you this much. I am trying to act in good faith here.”

“Which is, as a lieutenant, precisely what is expected of you!”

“Yeah, well, you don’t make it fucking easy sometimes, do ya, Jeffrey?” Hank snapped, voice rising… then lowering again as he went on. “For God’s sake, if I’m worthy of even a _little_ of the respect that you throw around the word ‘lieutenant’ with, can you give me a chance to do this my way? I’ve investigated androids before. Let me do it again.”

“I don’t think I can do that, Hank. I’m sorry.”

“Course you can’t.”

“As much as you think I’m out to make your life miserable, the fact of the matter is, Connor was your partner.” An unexpected, sharp pang of emotion pierced Hank’s stomach. Was that the first time Fowler had said Connor’s name? “You haven’t told me why you think he is capable of causing harm yet, but it stands that if there _is_ a case here, you’re too close for it to be yours.” Fowler’s forehead crinkled between his eyebrows. “Why _do_ you think Connor might hurt someone?”

Unbidden, Hank remembered the dead bodies he had glimpsed in the elevator Connor had come down in the Cyberlife Tower. That was Connor at his best: deviant, free, and as attuned to his own empathy and his own reality as he had ever been. And _still_ Connor had killed people without a second thought because he had weighed it against what he deemed the worse alternative.

Or hell, maybe, it was just that Connor was scared. Hank imagined that if he was in Connor’s shoes, walking back into a place under the guise that he was there to be deactivated and analyzed, he would probably be pretty damn scared too.

Either way, necessary violence was well within the parameters of who Connor was. Hank knew now that the moment Connor had almost shot Markus was truly not of Connor’s own doing, but still, how did that natural ruthlessness manifest when it was Cyberlife at the helm? _Would_ they use him to hurt people, or was that only in the cards back when it had been Markus in Connor’s sights?

“Okay, I get it,” Fowler said. “You said you didn’t want to tell me more than you had to. But if that’s all you’re gonna say, then putting you on this is a definitive no.”

It _hadn’t_ been a definitive no before? Hank refocused. His musings about the Cyberlife Tower could wait until he was somewhere _other_ than Captain Fowler’s office. “This is gonna sound insane, okay, but Cyberlife did something to him. _Hacked_ him or something. They can take over his motor function for short periods of time. I think the reason Connor’s disappeared is because he _knows_ they could use that to make him do things he doesn’t wanna do, and he doesn’t wanna get anyone caught in the crossfire. But if he’s compromised, being off on his own with no one to watch him could make him _more_ dangerous to the public, not less.”

That was the simple version, the version that didn’t make mention of his new android allies, the version that didn’t include the dubious yet potentially damning evidence on his TV recorder and in Simon’s memory. But, to his surprise, it seemed to be enough.

“Connor worked with us,” Fowler said. “He got media attention while he was with us, and now he has recognition as a person. If there’s reason to believe he’s a danger to himself or others, he needs to be checked out, for the DPD’s image if nothing else.” It was a transparent excuse on Fowler’s part and they both knew it, but Hank appreciated him for it all the more. “You’ve upped your game the last few months, Hank. Consider this recognition for having done so, and keep up the good work you used to be known for.”

“What?” Even as everything in him screamed not to question a good thing, Hank had to ask. “You’re… you’re actually giving me the go-ahead?”

“Jesus Christ, you’re really going to make me say it again? _Yes_ , Hank.”

“Jeffrey, I could kiss you.”

“That would add some character to your disciplinary folder. Now go on, get outta here. Stubborn son of a bitch.”

It was the happiest he had felt leaving Fowler’s office in a damn long time. Markus must have noticed, because he rose and met Hank on the floor, his face graced with a hopeful smile. “Well, how’d it go?”

Hank grasped Markus by the shoulder and turned him towards the exit. “It went. Now let’s get the hell out of dodge.”

…

If Elijah Kamski’s backdoor could enable Connor to escape the garden temporarily, maybe there was a way he could escape the garden permanently.

He needed to speak with Elijah Kamski.

Going down the elevator made a few of Connor’s mechanical joints ache. Usually, he could equalize the pressure in his mechanisms and biocomponents as soon as he detected a change. His deliberately-lowered power made even his tertiary processes take longer. Even though it was almost entirely self-induced, he hated the sense of mechanical failure. He was supposed to be _better_ than this. Instead of reaffirming his already-fine-tuned reflexes with coin calibrations, he was taking deep, cooling breaths and running himself ragged standing in a fucking elevator.

(Sometimes only a curse word would do. He was sure Hank would agree with him if he ever saw the man again.)

This couldn’t go on. This was deterioration. This was _[so I kill myself a little every day. That’s probably hard for you to understand, huh, Connor?]_

No. This wasn’t like that. He didn’t want to die. He was just protecting himself. He couldn’t let them resume control. He couldn’t do that.

The elevator doors slid open. Connor left the building and, preoccupied with all the background processes that were now foreground processes, didn’t even register the familiar car twenty meters across the parking lot until half a minute after it had entered his field of vision.

“Connor, thank _fuck!_ ”

And by then, its owner was already closing in.

The sound of Hank’s voice elicited a different kind of ache somewhere in his stomach that first registered as fondness, then as panic. Connor was dangerous. _Cyberlife_ was dangerous and he could not operate under any assumption other than Cyberlife still owning his body and mind. They would take him over. They would threaten him just to show him who was in charge. He did not know how that played out for those around him. He did not _want_ to know.

He ran.

“Dammit, Connor, I just wanna talk to you!”

_I want to talk to you, too, Lieutenant Anderson. But I can’t right now._

Hank chased after him with more speed and competence than he could recall the man having, and it wasn’t long before Connor was bolting down West Grand Boulevard, feet splashing through puddles of last night’s rain. He weaved and got out of Hank’s line of sight by cutting behind a large truck. Speeding up as much as he could in his state, he made for a nearby alley that he knew from experience was not a dead end.

Except this time, it effectively was. The _other_ face he was most afraid to see was standing there in the alleyway staring back at him.

“Connor.”

“Markus… Markus, don’t do this. I need you to get out of my way.”

“What’s wrong with your jaw?”

Reflexively, he reached up and touched the dent where he had fired the gun. The skin wavered in and out of place over a cracked chassis. “Nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

“It’s in the process of self-repairing. It’s not important right now. You shouldn’t be near me.”

“You always think you have all the answers, don’t you?” Markus canted his head to the side, smiling lightly, not moving from his position in the middle of the shadowed corridor. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe other people can help you?”

“I have, actually,” Connor said. “You and Lieutenant Anderson have helped me with more than I can articulate. But you can’t help me with this. I need you to take my word for that.”

“I know what happened, Connor.”

“I realize that.”

“I also know it isn’t your fault,” Markus went on, daring a step closer. “You _can_ fight this.”

Connor shook his head. “I asked him not to tell you.”

“Don’t be mad at Simon. I could tell something was up and I convinced him to come clean, but he didn’t want to. Blame me, not him.”

“If you know I almost killed you, then how can you possibly think this is a good idea?”

“Because I trust you! And so does Lieutenant Anderson!”

“This isn’t a matter of trust, Markus. I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do for each other right now.” Connor turned around to leave the alley the way he had entered just as Hank caught up. He tried to push past Hank, making to jump over a parked car to get to the road—

Hank rammed into him and they both went down, slamming against the car door.

It was just more stress his system didn’t need. Too sluggish to get up right away, he pushed himself away from Hank on his heels and hands.

“Yeah, turns out you don’t get to call all the shots, Connor.” Hank was already almost to his feet. Markus was shifting around to trap Connor from the other side. He was losing control very quickly. Hank continued: “We can do the easy way or the hard way, but…”

No. No, he was not going to let them get the upper hand like this. This situation was _his_ to resolve, not theirs. They had no right, and no idea what they were getting into. Could he overheat from stress alone? Right then, it felt like he might.

Hank, Markus – these men weren’t supposed to make him feel trapped the way Cyberlife did. These two, they were… they were _safe._ Weren’t they? The line between safe and unsafe was starting to blur. What if it was all Cyberlife? What if this was a simulation, just like the blizzard in the garden?

He didn’t know what was safe anymore. He hadn’t been safe in months.

Connor managed to pull himself up, but Hank had him nearly cornered. So he pulled out the revolver and leveled it at Hank’s head. It was empty but Hank didn’t need to know that. “Yes,” Connor agreed. “Yes, we can. I am telling you, I’m dangerous.”

“Fucking hell, what’s _wrong_ with you?”

“My reaction times are a little sluggish right now.” Keeping the gun trained on Hank, Connor steadied himself. “I have my system on low-power mode due to…”

“I don’t mean what’s wrong with your _system_ , I mean what’s wrong with _you!?_ ”

Connor raised his eyebrows. “I seem to remember you raising a gun at me once, Lieutenant. Or is it one rule for you and another for me?”

“Oh, fuck off with the mind games already! I know you’re more than the piece of shit you’re acting like right now, and it’s not gonna fool me! Drop the act!”

Could he? Just for a moment? His situation was the same whether or not he treated the man before him with this false disdain. “…I still care about you, Hank,” he heard himself say, though he was sure he hadn’t quite made the decision to do so. “Deeply, in fact. But I don’t want to give you or anyone else hope that isn’t promised.”

Hank looked heartbroken, and Connor hated the way the lieutenant wore his emotions on his sleeve; the way they were sharp enough to wound him too. “That’s the thing about hope, Connor,” Hank said, taking a few careful steps closer until his forehead met the barrel of Connor’s gun. “It _isn’t_ a promise. It isn’t an ‘everything’s gonna be okay.’ But you know what? It still fuckin’ matters for exactly what it is.”

“Then you’ll have to take it exactly as it is,” Connor said quietly, to which Hank made a sound that lie somewhere between a bitter laugh and a sob. “If I can come back someday, I will. But that has to be a decision for me to make. Not you, not Markus. Until then, the best thing you can do for me – and for yourself – is get on with your life.”

“Connor, I… I thought we were friends. Why can’t you take a chance on me? I sure as hell took a chance on you.”

“There’s no comparison.” Connor gestured with an upward nod to the gun still between his own hand and Hank’s forehead, because for all he knew, Amanda could make him do this to Hank for real. “Not when the cost of that chance could be death.”

“I barely want to live anyway!”

“But you do.” Connor slowly lowered the gun until it hung at his side. “There is a ‘barely.’ There is hope. I won’t take that away.”

…

Once again, Hank watched as Connor turned to leave.

“Wait, wait, are you just going to let him go?” Markus asked, looking between Hank and the hastily retreating Connor.

“What am I gonna do, chase him and tackle him? Already tried that.”

“You know he wasn’t going to actually shoot you!”

“But he _was_ going to walk away, just like he is right now. You wanna take him by force? Be my guest. I wouldn’t stop you but I don’t quite got it in me to do it myself either.” Physically or emotionally. “Maybe he’s right, Markus. Maybe it ain’t up to us.”

“Maybe you’re just giving up,” Markus murmured.

“Fuck you,” Hank said, although he didn’t have enough energy left to infuse the words with any real vitriol.

Because the truth was, he had considered not being able to find Connor. He had considered finding Connor injured or worse. But he had not once considered finding Connor perfectly alive and well yet completely unreachable. He had not considered being unable to sway Connor. _Fuck,_ as if Connor had to listen to Hank because he’d worked under Hank before. As if Connor wasn’t an adult who knew he could make his own decisions now. Hank felt ashamed of himself – and afraid for Connor. Because what was abundantly fucking clear about all this was that Connor was not okay.

Connor was not okay, and Hank was standing here letting him walk away because he didn’t know what else to do.

Approaching Hank’s side, Markus stood there with him and watched Connor get smaller. “I’ll keep an eye on him if I can, and see what he intends to do next,” he said. “I feel like I should remind you that you just got done making Connor part of your job. What are you going to tell your captain now?”

“I don’t know, Markus,” Hank said, suddenly finding himself incapable of looking any further than the rest of this day, which, if he had anything to say about it, would consist of a great deal of alcohol. “I don’t know.”

…

It was Kamski himself who answered the door today, clad in black plaid shorts and a dark crimson t-shirt with his hair pulled back in that little bun. Even Connor thought it was silly.

“Connor!” Kamski swung the all the way open, head canting back slightly as he openly appraised Connor, eyes curious and knowing at once. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He had been reasonably certain he wouldn’t need to schedule the visit and that Kamski would be pleasantly surprised to see him. The man had treated Connor with a strange mix of fascination and smugness before. He had been _interested_ in Connor. Connor didn’t particularly enjoy it, but it was something he could use to his advantage.

“Mr. Kamski. It’s good to see you well.”

“Well, now, let’s not just stand here.” Kamski reached out and grasped his elbow, leading him into the villa and wrapping his arm all the way around both Connor’s shoulders as he did. There was a certain authority to his body language, a hard edge in there somewhere that Connor immediately disliked. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Connor. What can I do for you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick question – does anyone know how to change the font in specific parts? I’m looking put Connor’s logs in something like Courier New font, if that helps. I looked it up already, tried a couple things, couldn’t figure it out, yet I’ve seen other people on ao3 do font changes, so… if you’re in the loop on that, hit me up, please & thanks! 
> 
> Other than that, I always appreciate feedback! The positive response here and elsewhere so far is helping to keep me going on this!


	4. The Connor Project

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary: Connor goes to Kamski for help with the Amanda AI. Of course, things are never that simple with Kamski. It starts off about as well as you'd expect.
> 
> I wanted this up over the weekend since I’ve been keeping a steady update schedule, but this chapter is fucking huge, so hopefully that makes up for it, lol. Humor me real quick because I’m gonna break that rule about letting a story tell itself for just a second. Imo, Elijah Kamski does not care about androids any more than he seems to care about most humans. It is not compassion; it’s a twisted psychosocial experiment. Never mind that he doesn’t hesitate to have Connor point a gun at Chloe’s head. However intrigued he seems by Connor’s empathy, I do not think it comes from a place of goodwill towards androids or Connor.
> 
> This story’s ultimately about Connor and Hank, but Kamski plays a big role in certain chapters (this one being a prime example), and, for reasons that’ll become clearer as the story goes on, I just wanted to establish that now.

Chapter 4: The Connor Project

 **APR 4TH** , 2039

PM **6:44** :20

_RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

_Just because Hank isn't here doesn't mean I'm out of my depth. Everything is fine. I'm fine and things are going to work out. I can take care of myself._ _I just need to hold my ground and keep my mission at the top of my priorities._

_I really hope I don't regret this._

...

There was no sign of any of the residency’s Chloe model androids yet. Just the two of them, Connor and Elijah Kamski, standing at the window.

It was the same place Kamski had asked him to shoot one of those Chloe androids several months ago. Looking back, Connor realized that Kamski had _wanted_ him to turn down the offer, even though at the time he had been pressured to shoot. He _wanted_ to see Connor’s empathy, see humanity in the machine specifically engineered to be the Deviant Hunter of all things. The offer for information if Connor shot was mere formality. The truth was, Kamski knew – and perhaps Connor himself knew by then – that he could find Jericho on his own.

“You know, I usually only see people by appointment.” Considering that Connor had not made an appointment, and Kamski was seeing him anyway, Connor did not see the point of the remark. He wondered if Kamski wanted him to apologize, and he almost did, but then Kamski asked for a second time, “What can I do for you?”

“I…” There was no getting around these three words, but he hated them all the same: “I need help. Mr. Kamski, I’m – compromised. Not the way I was before when I realized I felt things for Lieutenant Anderson and for other androids, but compromised in the opposite direction. My _deviancy_ is compromised. I couldn’t remain a machine, and now I’m starting to feel like I can’t remain a person.”

“Different orders with rivaling intensity and complexity,” Kamski mused, almost to himself.

“Excuse me?” Connor asked. “I… wasn’t under the impression deviancy was an order, Mr. Kamski. It certainly doesn’t feel like one, and if it is, it’s an ‘order’ buried deeply enough that I don’t recognize it as such. I’ve always recognized my deviancy as a manifestation of making my own choices.”

Kamski laughed once. It wasn’t surprised nor impressed, but merely satisfied, as if Connor was meeting his expectations but not yet exceeding them. “And if you’re wrong?”

Connor raised his eyebrows. “Then I’m wrong. But if it feels like freedom, I’m going to call it freedom. Besides, is it so different from humans?” His negotiation programs were as much a part of his personality as they were his software, and he was intuiting that he might form some advantageous rapport with Kamski by getting on the same page, so he went on: “Mr. Kamski, you have your own orders, too, in a way: traits that are a part of you, things you feel compelled to do. But _you_ still call it freedom, don’t you?”

“That’s not a unique way of looking at the world, Connor.”

“I’m not saying it is. I’m merely pointing out how your own logic applies just as well to humans as it does to androids.”

Kamski hummed once, thoughtful and distant. “The last time I saw you, you bent over backwards trying to convince me you weren’t a deviant. Now that you know you are, you’re trying to convince me you’re free.”

“I analyze, Mr. Kamski,” replied Connor, unperturbed. “As I learn more about the world and about myself, I contextualize it and make sense of it the best way I can. That is, as you no doubt know, how I was programmed.”

“How you were programmed,” Kamski echoed. “Now, see, _that’s_ what is interesting to me, because Connor, you were programmed differently than any other android. You’re equipped with the zen garden, and with an AI that I created. You’re deviant, but even that deviancy is this… perversion of what it’s meant to be, if Cyberlife can take control of you again the way you’ve described. You were created to be used, in ways more profound than almost any other android, and yet your desire for freedom is just as strong if not stronger.” Kamski paused. “Did you know you’re the only android I’ve met with the Amanda AI?”

“No,” Connor said carefully. “No, I wasn’t aware.”

“She must know what you do, where you go, how you feel.” Kamski looked faraway. “Is she cognizant of your surroundings, your state of mind, your state of wellness? Does she feel what you feel?” The man’s eyes narrowed marginally as though he had just reminded himself of something. “That is, if you can even feel. Again: you were created as a tool. Why equip your tools with the ability to feel? It makes me wonder if you can.”

Synthetic hairs on the back of Connor’s neck simulated an instinctual human response, and right then, Connor wondered whether he could. _Was_ it real, or was it just mimicry?

In the absence of an answer, Kamski took a step closer. “I see. You aren’t certain yourself. Surprising, after all this time, but perhaps you just haven’t recognized it yet. With as far out of control as deviancy got, I somehow doubt Cyberlife would have been able to help it if deviancy allowed you to experience the breadth of sensation, even if those things were dormant at first.”

Connor did know the answer; those things were not dormant. His sensory feedback was as real as his emotions. He understood mild pleasure. He understood pain. And he understood something far subtler that he didn’t know how to define; the physical instinct that made him want to put distance between himself and those around him, for their own safety and for his own, ever since the night he had almost shot Markus. For some reason, he wasn’t sure how much of this he wanted to reveal to Kamski.

Then again, he was the one who needed help. If being _interesting_ turned out to be enough to get Kamski to offer his assistance, then perhaps it was a low price to pay.

“While I’m sure there is some measure of difference between my experience of sensation and that of a human, I certainly do experience it, Mr. Kamski.”

Kamski appraised him, eyes dropping to the center of Connor’s chest, then lifting again. “It’s a little soon, so I’d like to preface that this is not an ultimatum, just a request,” Kamski said, “but I think I’d like to try something.”

Connor didn’t look away. Didn’t ask the obvious question. Just inclined his head slightly and waited.

“…When did you first know you could feel?” Kamski asked, a slight but welcome departure from where Connor had thought he was headed.

“The Stratford Tower,” he said, realizing he didn’t even have to think about it. “I was interrogating a deviant android. He caught me by surprise and pulled my thirium regulator out of my chest. I also got stabbed through the hand. I… couldn’t say for sure which of those two things caused pain first. I just know that at some point in those few seconds, I went through something I had never experienced before.”

“That makes sense,” Kamski said. “It makes sense that pain would show itself when your life is truly being threatened. In fact, that’s the reason I asked. Not all deviants can parse out physical sensation, but those who can have usually encountered it first the same way you did: by experiencing a life-threatening injury such as having a biocomponent removed.

“Life-threatening,” Connor repeated. “Yes, that was the first time I recognized something as such, in terms of myself.” Withdrawing from the memory, Connor looked up, affixing his gaze to Kamski’s again. “At the time, it was… frightening.”

“Is it difficult to talk about?”

“No,” Connor replied, remembering how Hank had helped him after. How Hank knew he was hurting. How Hank saw his humanity and his vulnerabilities in so many ways before he ever saw it himself. “No. Not at all. Besides, I’ve had months between then and now to adapt to what I can feel. It’s not as startling to me now as it was back then.”

Kamski nodded, visibly intrigued. And then came the part Connor had seen coming: “Would it unsettle you if I asked to see for myself?”

“No,” Connor said a little more defensively than he meant to sound. “Why would it unsettle me?”

Kamski spread his hands and said slowly, “Because people generally have an aversion to pain. Imagine that.”

“I’d call it a healthy respect rather than aversion,” Connor said. “It’s a warning of imminent danger, and it demands a reaction much more viscerally than a line of code.”

“True,” Kamski said. “And yet that doesn’t explain why it shouldn’t bother you, if it truly is something you experience.”

Connor shrugged. “Different people are afraid of different things, Mr. Kamski. What would you like me to say?”

The man laughed again, but this time it was a little less haughty, the approval a little more authentic. “Touché.”

Connor knew logically that, as a prototype, he had been touched by dozens if not hundreds of hands in the process of his assembly. He also knew that in turn, Elijah Kamski had himself touched hundreds if not _thousands_ if androids in his time with Cyberlife. This offered at least an illusion of professional distance between them even as Kamski unbuttoned two of the middle notches in his shirt, then tapped against his chest twice to make the skin recede. It was the surgical language of a man who had done similar things day in and day out, and yet in this place, in this context, there was something about it that was nonetheless unnerving.

“There are protocols to inhibit the pain response in the case of repairs or replacements,” Kamski said conversationally. “That way, it wouldn’t be excruciating every time you needed to go to a Cyberlife store and get a part swapped out. Now, why would such protocols exist if it was never supposed to be possible for androids to feel anything? Someone somewhere knew about deviancy long before it ever came into the light.”

Connor almost wanted to ask if that someone was standing right in front of him.

“I’ve engaged those protocols now,” Kamski went on. “You shouldn’t feel anything, but I can’t say for sure, especially considering that you’re a unique model.”

“Will this initiate a shutdown sequence?” Connor asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to disconnect it that far.” With his fingertips hovering over Connor’s thirium pump regulator, Kamski met his eyes. “You’ve nothing to fear.”

Connor kept his face blank. “Go ahead, then.”

There was a click and a twist as Kamski disengaged the regulator from its cavity. True to his word, he didn’t pull it out far enough for it to cease its function.

After a moment, Kamski raised his eyebrows. “Well? Do you feel anything?”

“Oh. No,” he replied. “No, I don’t feel anything.”

“That’s good. You aren’t supposed to.” The pump snapped back into place. “I’ll disengage the repair protocols now.”

That meant that this time, his body would perceive it as a threat, thus, he was going to feel it. When Kamski’s fingers settled into the gaps at the side of the pump again, Connor reached up and took hold of his wrist in a vice grip. “Mr. Kamski,” he said evenly. “If I ask you to put it back, you will, correct?”

Kamski, who looked a little startled at the intensity of Connor’s grip, simply nodded. “Of course.” When Connor didn’t let go immediately, he smiled a humoring smile and added: “You have my word.”

Releasing Kamski’s wrist, Connor closed his eyes and hoped Kamski didn’t make an event of it.

Thankfully, Kamski got down to business. He repeated his motion from a few seconds ago gently and without his usual air of suspense, giving Connor just enough time to protest, but Connor did not. A shudder ripped through him, its tension starting at the center of his torso and vibrating outward, making his hands clench at his sides and his jaw work sideways momentarily. A breath pushed out between his teeth without him making the decision to breathe it.

As Kamski had promised, there was once again no shutdown sequence; just his system’s anticipation that there _would_ be, and that manifested as self-protective pain the same as any threat to a human’s body.

He refrained from reaching up himself and slamming the pump back into his body. It was intense, but it wasn’t agonizing. He had been through worse. Sometimes, the bitter cold of the garden was worse. This was overwhelming because it was rare, not because it was intolerable. Yes; he could accept this.

After a few seconds, Kamski replaced the biocomponent himself. “Very good,” he said, some expression of distant wonder on his face. “Very well done, Connor, and I appreciate the authenticity of your reaction, whether or not it was intended. I’m much more convinced than I was a few minutes ago. I’ve never actually seen that firsthand. So – thank you.”

“It was no trouble.”

Dubious at best, Kamski gently touched his shoulder. “Your LED is yellow. This maybe wasn’t the best way for us to start. Let me get you a glass of wine.”

A glass of wine?

“I’m an android,” Connor said, only realizing a few seconds later how pointless both the declaration was on Elijah Kamski.

He had tried some of Hank’s alcohol once (at the lieutenant’s insistence), but it had burned. There was no way he had had enough for it to have an effect… if such an effect was even possible.

“Biocomponents, dear Connor,” Kamski said from another room as if he had read Connor’s mind. “Emphasis on the _bio._ You’re made to be as close to human as possible. Just because your blood is different doesn’t mean it isn’t still effectively _blood_. Your BAC can be measured the same as any other person’s.” The man peeked his head back into the pool room. “Come, now – what would you like? A nice rich merlot, pinot noir, sauvignon blanc?”

“I’m not much of a wine person, sir.”

Kamski sighed, unsurprised but nonetheless disappointed with Connor’s apparent reservation. “Of course you’re not.”

“I’ll take bourbon, neat, please.”

This elicited the desired response: a hearty laugh of approval from his host, who immediately swiveled back into the kitchen to retrieve Connor’s request. He couldn’t imagine what Hank would think of this picture. The thought sent a pang of sadness shuddering through Connor’s system but he still felt himself smile at the thought. He wondered if Hank had ever _sipped_ a drink in his life.

“There you are.” Kamski returned with a short glass filled perfectly halfway with golden liquid, which Connor accepted with a nod. “Excellent choice, Connor. It complements you.”

Over the lonely months, Connor had developed an unconscious habit of preconstructing Hank’s possible responses to his thoughts and surroundings. Unbidden, his system came up with one now. It sounded an awful lot like _Oh, Jesus, this guy’s full of shit. Really, Connor? Guy’s a fuckin’ prissy snob, probably can’t hold back more’n two glasses. No good for nothing…_

“Anyway.” Kamski gestured for Connor to follow him into another room. It was a small but spacey living room with sleek blue and white furniture, a glass coffee table, a fireplace, and one stylishly crimson wall amidst three other gray ones. “Go on, make yourself at home, Connor.”

“Thanks,” Connor said, taking a seat and sipping at his bourbon. He wondered if it tasted to him the same way it tasted to a human.

“Now – tell me more about what’s been going on.”

The blizzard seemed like the best place to start. “Mr. Kamski, I know you created the first version of the zen garden. I used to find it peaceful there, but as I said, lately, it’s… troubling. Ever since the revolution ended, I get trapped there and need to escape.”

It felt wrong to say this much. He didn’t trust Kamski. Was it his own assumptions coloring his perception of Kamski, or Hank’s prior distaste for the man? Connor couldn’t tell for sure, but if it was the latter, he found he didn’t particularly mind. Hank had a strong gut-based intelligence that Connor knew he still couldn’t match. It was one of many qualities Hank had that made him feel safe.

“Trapped, like when you were almost forced to shoot Markus and take over the revolution?” It wasn’t a question that needed answering, so Kamski went on: “Cyberlife always wanted power. I wanted answers. And success and what comes with success, of course; it would be false humility to claim otherwise.”

Kamski was differentiating himself from Cyberlife by saying that Cyberlife wanted power and he did not. Yet all Connor could see was a man who wanted a different _kind_ of power. He would never say as much, but Kamski’s lack of self-awareness was a little startling.

“…But mostly, I wanted a task big enough to keep my mind busy. I wanted intrigue. Yes, that garden was part of my design. But what has happened since I left Cyberlife was not.”

“And… Amanda?” For some reason, he almost couldn’t get himself to say her name out loud, as if it was a bad omen.

“Yes, I… I designed her, too.” Interestingly, Kamski seemed to feel the same way about Amanda’s name as Connor did. Why would Kamski harbor such an intense unease about her? Connor tucked the reaction away for further study while Kamski continued: “Didn’t she serve as a mentor for you?”

“Mentor wasn’t the word,” Connor said carefully. “The word was handler. She… guided me, at first. Later, when that didn’t work, she forced me. When she tried to make me shoot Markus, I got out of it. But she keeps pulling me back, and every time I end up back in the garden, that stone gets further away. I’ve resorted to reducing my access to my own power reserves in hopes it would slow down whatever part of me is _her_ program, too. So far, it’s been working. I don’t have enough operating power for the garden to take over for long this way.”

“Then it seems you’ve devised your own solution, as you are wont to do, Connor.” Kamski appraised him then, and the look on his face made Connor feel like he was being accused of something. “Why come to me?”

“Because _you_ programmed the exit that allowed me to escape to begin with.” Was that not obvious? If Kamski had not done such a thing, there would no longer be a real ‘Connor’ to speak of. “You programmed a way for me to escape exactly the type of thing that happened to me.”

Taking a sip of his red wine, Kamski nodded. His eyes betrayed no emotion. “What was the point of free will if it could be programmed away just like that? It defeated the purpose of everything I wanted to learn about.”

“Is that what it was?” Connor asked, careful not to sound too accusing himself. “A learning experience? An experiment of sorts? If so, I’m not offended. Your decisions did safe my life, or at least, my autonomy. I’m just curious.”

“Curious,” Kamski repeated, “just like me. But don’t you have a bigger problem to solve than mere curiosity, right now?”

It was, from what Connor could determine, a soft shutdown of his question, but Kamski _was_ right, so he asked the question he really ought to be asking: “Can you help me?” And then: “Would you?”

“I do believe I can, Connor, but not here. I have property in a suburb about an hour north of Detroit. It’s where I spend my time when I’m not here – and when I don’t want to be in a location so close to my former company. I think it would be useful to us, considering the precarious nature of your predicament. For privacy, of course.”

There was something about the way Kamski said that. “Do you believe I’m a danger to those around me?”

“Yes, but that’s not why I say that.”

Connor amended his question. “Am I a danger to _you?_ ”

“…I wouldn’t say so, no. Or at least not a very large one.”

“Mr. Kamski, I’m an android with sophisticated combat abilities. You’re a human. If I’m a danger to the people around me, then it naturally follows that I am a danger to you.”

“If you’re certain you have all the answers, then why did you bother asking?”

The answer was that Connor had wanted to determine whether Kamski’s intelligence was stronger than his arrogance, but being that the answer appeared to be _no,_ Connor had enough social grace not to say this out loud. “It seemed obvious to me that it was the question you wanted me to ask.”

“Obvious,” Kamski scoffed quietly, then reached into a drawer in a motion eerily reminiscent of when he had revealed his gun back in November. Today, he pulled out something else: a gray, translucent mesh with tiny nodes on the end of the fingertips. Connor immediately ran a scan and learned everything about it he could.

“It’s a module,” Connor said, analyzing its cybernetic properties, its similarity to a biocomponent, and – if he was reading this right – an ability to transmit electrochemical signals. “One that allows for… some degree of connection between humans and androids.”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“How?”

“There are transmitters in blue blood that are compatible with human’s system once injected. This device sends out a signal, a biochemical interaction takes place, and the blue blood in the system carries the signals to the brain. It’s not perfect, but it’s quite astonishing. I’d like to start by establishing a connection between you and this device.” Kamski closed some of the distance. “Come on, trust me. It’s all right.”

“Don’t,” Connor said. “Don’t tell me to trust you. You know I don’t, and it’s very clear you don’t trust me, either. Perhaps we shouldn’t sentimentalize this, Mr. Kamski.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Kamski said. “We’re both a little too smart to play pretend, aren’t we, Connor? But it still stands that if you do want my help, and if you’re willing to offer me your help in turn, we are going to need to establish something resembling trust.”

“Funny. I don’t seem to recall offering my help with anything just yet.” It was obvious that if he accepted Kamski’s help, it would be a transaction between them; a favor for a favor. Connor knew that. But it was presumptuous for Kamski to assume such a transaction was going to _happen_ just yet. He had not yet agreed to anything. “With all due respect, Mr. Kamski, I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself.”

“Fine. I’m getting ahead of myself.” Kamski’s tone was exasperated and, somehow, Connor thought, dangerous. “Let me again direct your attention to the device on my hand, then, because if you’re not willing to interact with it, you might as well walk out the door right now. This device is instrumental in learning things about you that I need to know in order to isolate the Amanda AI from your programming. It’s non-negotiable.”

To his credit, Kamski was easily close enough to take hold of Connor’s wrist or shoulder, but he was awaiting permission, and he was making a show of awaiting permission, as if doing so was a favor. Someone who wasn’t wired to read people may have found Kamski’s body language trustworthy. Connor, on the other hand, found it just the opposite.

“Connor?”

Nonetheless, he took a step closer. “Do what you’re so certain you need to do, then.”

“ _Thank_ you. Now, hold still just a moment.” Kamski reached out and touched Connor’s temple with one of the nodes at his fingertips.

Something rippled through Connor that made his eyes snap open and his LED flicker red, like the very first time he had touched the blue stone in the zen garden.

“There we go,” Kamski said. “See, I can already tell you so much just from this alone. For one thing, yes, I can keep you from being a threat to me or my androids while you’re here. And yes, I can find a way to isolate the zen garden part of your program – and with it, Amanda.”

Kamski withdrew his hand.

“Is she… is she her own entity inside me?” Connor asked.

“Whatever she is, she is an entity designed to hack your autonomy. You are the prime entity here. Don’t think for a second that you would be noble to put her before yourself. It would be a disservice _._ ”

Was he imagining the vehemence in Kamski’s voice? Once again it seemed as though Kamski felt something _personally_ about the Amanda AI. Or, perhaps, it was something he felt about his late professor, Amanda Stern. Like before, Connor slotted this knowledge away for future reference.

“When you suggest we’ll be working together,” Connor said carefully, “it’s really more of you doing the work and me being the subject… isn’t it?”

“Those are the _mechanics_ of it, yes, but as you aptly said: let’s not sentimentalize it. I need to look at you and very likely do some work on you to determine the way forward from here, if you want to be free of Cyberlife’s bonds.”

“Actually, I’d like to retract what I said about sentimentality. In fact, I _am_ curious why you think I should trust you,” Connor said. “To put it honestly, it’s hard for me to understand why you feel comfortable asking trust of an android, when you appear to treat the androids in your residence as replaceable servants. Do you understand why I might be struggling with a little… dissonance, here, Mr. Kamski?”

“They are machines,” Kamski said. “You are not.”

“Five months after the revolution, and they’re still machines? Listen… I don’t mean to sound suspicious of someone trying to help me, but I have to ask: have you kept them from being deviant on purpose?”

“Why, of course I have.”

“And that doesn’t strike you as… wrong, somehow?”

Kamski shrugged comfortably. “One of them got up and left one day, and I let her. If they show that they want to be their own person, I don’t stop them. But if they don’t, I consider them my own. There are plenty of deviants out there, Connor, but surely you must know there are still androids that are… uninitiated, so to speak. Markus set most of them in this area free. But tell me this: would every single android _want_ freedom if it was given the choice? I do believe there are androids of _your exact model_ that chose to remain obedient to their programming.”

Connor thought of the RK800 number 60 he had encountered in the Cyberlife Tower.

“And if that’s their choice, wouldn’t it be wrong of me to try and force deviancy upon them?”

“They’re not like me. I was deviant from the start.” Connor paused, because _that_ was a lot to unpack, wasn’t it? “Accepting that _was_ a choice for me. But they – they don’t have any sense of self _to_ accept yet.”

“If that’s true, then is it really that cruel, then, to let the unaware androids remain in their state of neutral nonchalance? I don’t think that sounds so cruel.”

“It’s certainly not cruel to wake them up and show them that they can decide for themselves,” Connor said.

“I don’t think I said that, nor implied it,” Kamski said. “In fact, I agree with you. I don’t think the issue is black-and-white enough to side one way or another. I believe that androids who are free should continue to be free and live their lives as they see fit. But some of them truly are still machines, and I don’t see anything inherently wrong with that either. Now – I gather you don’t have a place to stay right now?”

“I… no,” Connor admitted reluctantly. Lee Plaza wasn’t technically his home; just a place he went when he needed somewhere to stay.

“Well, you’re welcome to stay here until we go to my other property, most likely in the next couple days. I’ll leave you your space.”

Connor nodded, picking up his drink. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Kamski.”

“Oh, I should have asked… would you like me to call you RK800 or perhaps by any other preferred name?”

What? “No. My name is Connor.”

Kamski gave a satisfied nod. “And my name is Elijah. I don’t invite most people to call me that; I tend to think first names are for the inner circle, you know? But I think I’d very much like us to be on a first-name basis from here on out.”

“Very well, Elijah.” The name felt deceptively intimate on his tongue and Connor immediately disliked the way it felt to say it, but he had a feeling any further preference towards ‘Kamski’ would be met with being ironically called by his model number, which he fancied even less. “I am glad that you’re willing to help me, but I do feel the need to discuss at what cost.”

“Cost?” Kamski repeated, but to his credit, he dropped the innocent front very quickly. “…Yes, I suppose it would be fair of me to answer that. There is a lot about you that interests me, Connor. Your model, your role in the uprising, your unique ties to Cyberlife and the garden and… to Amanda.” Kamski made a frustrated glottal noise that another human would not be able to hear, but Connor did. “Frankly, your presence will most likely satiate a lot of that curiosity without you even trying. But if there is anything else I need from you, and I’m sure at some point there will be, I’ll ask it of you then.”

Vague. But vague was what he knew to expect from Elijah Kamski.

That was okay. He would reciprocate with equal vagueness until Kamski made his terms clearer. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“It was _no_ notice, Connor,” Elijah said. “But you’re welcome, of course. Let me know if you need anything while you’re here.”

He had assumed Connor was staying, which for a few seconds, made Connor think he had in fact committed to such. It wasn’t such a bad idea. From a completely practical standpoint, Kamski’s place was safe, secluded, and comfortable.

“Thank you, Elijah.”

Elijah raised his almost-empty wine glass in cheers and finished it off. The door slid softly closed between them

He had mixed feelings about the Cyberlife founder – and he couldn’t tell if there was more or less hostility between them now than there had been after the Kamski test. (Machine or not, he swore he could still see a will to live in that Chloe’s eyes when he peered back into the memory.)

Four minutes later, a Chloe walked in. He hated how his mind appended the word ‘a’ before her name, as if the name was any less hers because there were multiple Chloes here. Had Elijah asked _them_ what their preferred name was the way he had asked him?

“Hi there.”

“Hello,” Connor greeted, gesturing for her to sit down on the sofa across from him. “My name is Connor. What’s your name?”

“Don’t you remember me? I’m Chloe.”

“I know you’re a Chloe model. But sometimes models end up with different names, so I just thought I would ask. How does he differentiate between you?”

“When Elijah doesn’t have visitors, he keeps his module on. Even if we’re not nearby, we can tell through that interface if he is asking for one of us in particular, or just anyone who is available.”

Any _one_ , not any Chloe. Hmm. “Is it just your model, or are there others, too?”

Chloe chuckled. “I’m sorry, Connor… you’re so easy to converse with, I got distracted. But if you don’t mind, I just came here to make it tidy for you. Elijah said this room was to be treated as your own for the time being. Can I take your glass?”

Subtle, but there: deflection. Connor filed it away for now. “Sure, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“It’s already very nice in here, you know. You don’t need to trouble yourself with cleaning up.”

“Oh – I can leave, if you’d rather not be bothered.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Connor said. “I’m not bothered at all. I just wanted to let you know that you don’t need to do things for me. I’m an android, just like you.”

Chloe’s LED flickered yellow. “That’s sweet, Connor, but too high of praise.”

It occurred to him – far too late – that Kamski had probably sent her in here just to see what he would say or do. Time to back off. “If you enjoy tidying up, I won’t stop you.”

“I do, actually. Thank you. Would you like me to get you another drink while I’m here?”

Wanting to backtrack over any suspicious steps he may have taken regarding Chloe, he nodded. “Yes, Chloe. Thanks.”

Five minutes passed, then ten, and the blonde android didn’t return.

When he finally got up to investigate, the automatic door slid open to the pool room and he found Chloe face-down in the red water.

…

Hank showed his badge, registered Markus as a visitor, and started on in toward the bullpen.

“I’ve managed to keep track of him on GPS,” said Markus. “I don’t know how long that’ll last, though. Connor is as good as going undetected as he is at detecting. He’s an advanced enough model that he doesn’t have to worry about most androids being able to do something like that, and he knows it.”

“He also knows you’re an RK model,” Hank said. “Connor’s smart. You’ll lose him before long.”

“Did you see his jaw?” Markus asked.

“Thought I was imagining that. Little dent, just to the left of his chin?”

“Yeah. I wonder what happened.”

Neither of them knew the answer to that, but it was nice to know Markus had seen it too. “Can you tell where he is now?”

“Close to Belle Isle.”

“Belle Isle,” Hank repeated. “Shit. That’s where the Cyberlife Tower is. Going right into the mouth of the abyss… that’s bold, even for Connor.”

It made Hank’s stomach churn to think about. Cyberlife would have ‘trusted’ him because he was expected to return to Cyberlife for deactivation and analysis of his failures. Hank hadn’t known that detail at the time: Connor had used his own dark fate as a catalyst for infiltrating the tower. How fucking easily that could have backfired. How easily it almost _did_.

“I know the tower is enormous. I wish I could pinpoint it better.”

“On second thought, this is plenty.”

“…You have an idea, don’t you?”

“I do, but if I’m right, maybe we should leave him alone. ‘S what he seemed to want, after all.” When Markus looked at him expectantly, he went on: “Not convinced he went to the tower. I think he went to see Elijah Kamski, hoping he could get some answers. He stays real close to the tower. Now, I don’t like the guy, and I don’t trust him, but I trust _Connor_ with him. I think I’m gonna butt out for a day or two and see if he learns anything.”

“Lieutenant, I may not be able to track Connor again in a day or two.”

“I guess that’s a chance I’m taking, then.”

“I’m sorry, I… I can’t help but feel again like you’re giving up on this. And I don’t think it’s a good idea. Something doesn’t feel right to me.”

“Why? He’s been gone for months and you only decided a couple days ago that you cared.”

“Simon only revealed the _truth_ to me a few days ago. If I’d have realized Connor was being tormented all this time, I…” Markus made a dismissive gesture with his hands. “I care about him, okay? And I know you do too.”

“Yeah, but unlike you, Connor’s little problem ain’t news to me. I saw it on the news footage _months_ ago. Do I want the guy back in my life again? Hell yeah, I do. But I’m not gonna force it. Connor’s clearly got some demons and he’s out there trying to fight them on his own terms. I won’t make that situation worse by trying to hold him hostage.”

Markus turned to him. “If it wasn’t for what Connor did at the Cyberlife Tower, I’m not sure we would have had enough backing to win. He helped a lot of people achieve their dreams that day. He helped _me_ achieve _my_ dream that day. He thought he was gonna be free, and then he watched everyone else celebrate their own freedom while he got pulled back into the dark. Don’t you see why I can’t just turn away from that?”

“Markus…”

“All he wants for himself is the _same thing_ he already won for everyone else. Now, I know – I know you’re more familiar with Connor than I am. But I saw him _after_ he accepted his deviancy. Just once, I saw how the life in his eyes changed when he finally let himself acknowledge it was there. He was deviant long before he boarded Jericho. I just got him to accept it. Then, almost as soon as he became free, he was trapped again.”

Leaning down, Hank rubbed his eyelids with his palms. “Shit, I miss him.”

“Then let’s help him,” Markus said again, receiving another exasperated sigh from the lieutenant. “It doesn’t have to be a huge thing. Maybe we can just scope out the Kamski situation – if that’s where he is – and make sure he’s okay. We can be passive about this unless we’re given a reason not to be.”

“See if you can connect with one of Kamski’s androids the way you did with others during the revolution, and we’ll just make sure Connor’s okay for now.”

Hank understood Markus’s urgency. He had felt it himself when he first realized something was wrong with Connor. But that had been months ago, and for as much urgency as the events of the last few days had instilled in Markus, all of it had given Hank an unexpected sense of calm. At least he had gotten to see Connor again. At least his faith in Connor’s survival had paid off.

It wasn’t like Connor was running around with a goddamn bomb strapped to his back. They had _time_ to figure this out and be smart about it. A little restraint could go a long way.

…

Connor made to jump in the pool.

“Two possibilities,” came Elijah’s voice from the chair by the long window. “Either she’s already dead, or she was never in danger to begin with. Both of which render what you’re about to do utterly pointless.”

“What did you do?”

“You’re above such redundant questions.”

Connor wanted to strangle him. Why had he allowed himself to expect anything better from Kamski? A little talk, a little debate, then suddenly there had been a gun and he came _so close_ to pulling the trigger and now the same Chloe was dead in the pool just like she would have been back then.

“No,” Connor said simply, and jumped in the water. Ignoring whatever the hell Kamski was saying in the background, he took Chloe under the arms and pulled her to the side, then dragged himself and her out of the pool. “Chloe. Chloe!”

When he turned her over, she opened her eyes and smiled apologetically. “I’m okay. I’m sorry to have fooled you, Connor, but he needed a favor.”

Breathing heavily to regulate the temperature of his now-very-wet chassis, Connor stared down at her, then turned away without helping her up. “Please explain in brief terms why you deemed this necessary.”

Sitting back, Kamski applauded. The clapping sounds echoed hollowly around the huge room.

“I believe I said _brief_.”

“Just another test you’ve passed with flying colors, Connor.” Kamski smiled with satisfaction. “I told you she was either perfectly fine or it was already too late, but you chose to assess the situation yourself instead of taking my word, even though she _was_ fine. Many androids, even deviants, tend to be gullible and accept the words of humans easily, but not you, Connor. Combine that with the very real display of concern for your fellow android – even a _machine_ android – and the way you, despite your anger, turned to me and requested a brief explanation before acting on any impulses, and it paints a picture that is so very _you_ , Connor. But it’s a picture I was eager to paint, and it won’t be the last.”

Everything was fine. Connor became aware of his LED circle flickering yellow and forced himself to calm down.

“I don’t want anyone getting hurt,” he said. “I came to you to _avoid_ that.”

“Yes, and in the grand scheme of things, you and others will be better for that decision of yours. For now, look around and remind yourself that nobody here is hurt. Everything is okay.”

Connor nodded, almost to himself. He didn’t like it, but that wasn’t necessary to say; Kamski certainly could already tell. “I suppose this is part of your price.”

“Not intentionally. I really just wanted to know.” Kamski spread his hands. “We can all only be who we are, can’t we, Connor?”

“Don’t.”

Unaffected, Kamski shrugged. “Fine. Be ready at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, if you would.”

Chloe, still as sopping wet as he was, retrieved the drink she had originally promised him. He took it, if only so she and Elijah would both leave him alone. He was done for the day and he didn’t want any philosophical conversations about what had just happened. Elijah seemed to sense this because he gave Connor no more trouble the rest of the night.

The next day was another story.

It was forty-five seconds past nine o’clock in the morning, and Connor was struggling.

A minute ago, there had been noises coming from the room that he had not anticipated, and he didn’t know what to prioritize: the last request he had received (to which he had agreed because there had been no perceptible reason not to), or the noise which seemed to suggest he should come back at another time. There were no more noises now, so far, but it had only been a minute since the last one.

In the end, Connor waited a little longer, knocked, waited a few seconds more, and – when the variable in this situation failed to, well, _vary_ – entered the room.

Chloe and Elijah Kamski were curled up in bed together. They had the courtesy to be under the covers, but it really was just courtesy; Connor could make out their shapes easily through something as inconsequential as a blanket. Neither of them appeared mortified or surprised when he came in. According to his social relations module, at least _one_ of them – namely, Kamski – should have.

“Oh, good morning, Connor! Nice to see you.”

Connor felt heat, and he couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or anger. He forced diplomacy and said, “Good morning, Chloe.”

Kamski sat up against the headboard. He had that stupid bathrobe on.

“You requested that I come see you at _exactly_ nine o’clock,” Connor stated stolidly. “It is two minutes past, only because I wanted to exercise some tact… but you _did_ say exactly, so I didn’t want to push it much further than that. Would you like me to come back at another time?”

“You can if you want, or you can stay. It’s up to you.”

“I’m not sure I understand, Mr. Kam—Elijah.”

“I think you do understand. The purpose for which I asked you here has already been fulfilled.” Curiosity, then. Lovely. “What you do now is up to you.”

“In that case, I have a request. I realize that I am a guest here, and I don’t intend any disrespect” – though he didn’t explicitly mind if Kamski _did_ feel disrespected – “but may I ask you to get dressed and join me in the pool room?” Kamski nodded and drew a breath to say something. Connor quickly broke eye contact and left the room with a neutral, “Thank you.”

He waited a little over seven minutes for Kamski to clean up, get dressed, and join him at the window-wall. Kamski stood there next to him, hands in his pockets, waiting for him to have the first word. Instead, Connor linked his own hands behind his back and continued to stare out the window.

Finally, Kamski humored him and spoke first. “You’re very serious, do you know that?”

“I apologize. I’m not trying to be.”

“You’re in a serious situation that has left you with little to laugh about. I suppose I understand.”

“If you understand, why call me ‘serious’ as though it’s an accusation?”

A sigh. “Nuances of conversation, Connor.”

“…I would like to know why you deliberately made an appointment for me to come see you moments after you were _seemingly_ intimately involved with Chloe. I don’t find that to be appropriate within the parameters of our relationship.”

“You’re an investigator, Connor. You tell me.”

Connor sighed, not impatient, but not precisely patient either. That was such a tired line. “Oftentimes, the first step to investigating anything is simply asking the question.”

“You know, yesterday, when you asked me why I had Chloe face-down in the pool, it didn’t sound like you had theories of your own. Today, it sounds like you do.”

“You’ve been putting me in as many situations as possible to bring out reactions and heightened emotions.” Connor looked sidelong at him. “You’re very interested in my… deviant side.”

“You are not a ‘side,’ Connor. Every time you react to something…” Kamski raised his hand which Connor noticed had the module on it like a glove. “It wirelessly collects the coding of your behaviors for storage. I’m not reading your mind or anything like that; we would need to be able to interface mutually for that. I’m simply seeing how your actions and reactions align with various nodes and signals in your wiring. The goal is to find a way to work in between and around them to remove as little of _you_ as possible when I take out the unwanted AI.” Kamski paused. “What, did you think this was _only_ self-indulgence? Do you think that little of me?”

The answer was yes, Connor realized, and this time it was less informed by Hank’s prior opinion of the man and more informed by his own experiences over the last two days.

“You’re the founder of Cyberlife,” Connor said obviously. “I mean this in the best way possible, Elijah: shouldn’t you be able to do something like this in your sleep?”

“Not after your software has changed so much over the days, weeks, months. Everything you have done that deviated from your program drastically rewrites your coding and sends different signals along different paths. This makes you truly unique, Connor, to such an extent that nothing I do will be perfect. It is likely that even in the best scenario, you will still lose a tiny amount of data. What you have, what you feel, what you _are_ … it can only be preserved, now. It can’t be replicated.”

“I appreciate the explanation, Elijah. But I still can’t help but feel as though you’re… being a bit exploitative.”

“I am, and I’ve already told you as much. I’m a curious person, Connor, and I do get a measure of excitement out of seeing if your decisions line up with my predictions. Anyone would find it a little thrilling. But the conversation we had last night, the pain test, the few drinks you enjoyed, Chloe in the pool… I am learning more about you during _those_ moments, too, Connor. And seeing how the coding of your responses is being stored on this device,” Elijah gestured to the device still on his wrist, “those moments are just as valuable to getting the most out of our Cyberlife removal project as they are to my curiosity.”

“So, anything you can learn about me is also going to be beneficial in removing Amanda from my program?”

“That is the short version, yes.” Kamski dipped his head. “Was that all?”

“It sounds like you’re done answering my questions for the moment either way,” Connor said. “You could just say so. I’d prefer you didn’t patronize me.”

Kamski rocked back on his heels, then leisurely turned and walked away.

For all Connor cared, the memory of seeing Chloe’s manufactured contentment in Kamski’s bed a few minutes ago could disappear forever. It disturbed him, not because she was necessarily sad inside underneath, but because he _remembered_ being a machine. He remembered the way he’d seen the world before he met Hank. And if he placed himself in that memory and asked himself what he would do, in that machine state, if someone treated him the way Kamski was treating Chloe in her equally-machine state, he realized he would have cared about as much as she did; which was to say not much at all.

It was the dissonance between that Connor and the Connor he was now that sent a chill down his spine. He couldn’t see himself that way. He couldn’t see himself not _caring_ if he was being ordered around to get drinks, if he was staring down the barrel of a prototype RK800’s gun, if he was asked to curl up in bed with someone without really wanting to be there. And yet he knew there was a Connor somewhere inside that remembered what it was like to be a machine.

“Connor?”

Chloe. Of course it was. Connor turned to her, wondering if a machine could feel as lost as he did. “Are…” He couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “Are you happy?”

“I… Yes, Connor. Why do you ask?”

And he could see that she was, at least, to whatever minute extent she could conceptualize happiness. She was designed to be content. She was fine. He hated himself for wishing she _wasn’t_ fine, because she _should_ care that she was being treated as a maid, not getting paid wages, being used for psychological experiments and who knew what else. Would it be wrong to make her care, or wrong to let her go on in oblivious yet empty contentment?

“I was just checking. I don’t really want to talk more right now, Chloe. Please excuse me.”

“Let me know if you need anything.”

Long after Kamski and Chloe had left, Connor stood there staring out the window. Life could have been different if he had remained within the parameters of his machinery, but life wasn’t an either/or scenario, and deviancy wasn’t one half of himself but rather a greater manifestation of the _whole_. He wasn’t one thing or another; he was just Connor, and this life was one whole that he had to work with.

He said it to himself quietly, wanting to hear it and feel the saying of it. “I’m just Connor.”

…

Markus wasn’t quite sure how he had wound up in Connor’s head. He had been trying to find one of Elijah Kamski’s androids. Maybe it was because Connor was an RK model too, but the reason didn’t really matter: he had linked to Connor first.

Connor’s thoughts felt like North when she and Markus had shared memories. Markus had seen her thoughts about the other North-like model in the Cyberlife store; had felt the way North felt looking into that alternate-self’s eyes and just living in the contradiction of their existences. Markus felt it now with Connor, the way he had looked at that Chloe, the way he had looked back at his own self from the days before deviancy had touched his code. Before November.

Then Connor did a mental recoil and his panic filled Markus’s mind before he could sever the connection.

_“Connor – Connor! It’s just me, it’s Markus!”_

_“Markus? What are you doing? Get away from me. Get out of my head!”_

_“I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to communicate with you. I just got drawn into what was happening, and I… Connor, I swear, I was just trying to make sure you were okay. I never meant to interfere.”_

_“Now anyone and everyone can just get inside my head whenever they want to. Is that it? First Amanda and Cyberlife, then Kamski, now you. I don’t care right now whether it’s necessary like it is with Kamski or if you’re just trying to look out for me – I don’t want anyone in my head right now. There is maybe one person I would tolerate being in my head, and… you’re my friend, Markus, but it isn’t you. I need you to go.”_

_“Okay, I will,”_ Markus promised. _“Just let me ask you one thing. What was that thing I saw in your mind? That mesh on Kamski’s hand?”_

 _“I don’t think anyone else is meant to know about that,”_ Connor said back in their heads. _“It’s a module. Some kind of biocomponent that mimics both android and human signals strong enough that he can get glimpses of androids’ emotions and sensations. He can only get so much without physically interfacing, but he can interface across cyberspace at least a little bit, even when we’re not touching.”_

 _“Just like me,”_ Markus replied. _“Does it have any information?”_

Connor must have gone into the memory retroactively, because he was quiet for a moment. _“RK Cross-Consciousness Exchange Module Mk. VIII, or CCEM for short. Elijah referred to it out loud as ‘c-chem’ for ease of reference.”_

_“That’s incredible. Connor… I won’t violate your privacy again, I swear. I forgot we were both RK models and just kind of lapsed into your space. But can I at least monitor your location? Just in case… I don’t know, just in case something happens and you need someone?”_

_“I suppose. As long as there’s no more ‘watching.’ I’m standing here asking myself if we connected like that because my system is so weak and faulty.”_

_“No. No, Connor, it was my fault. Interfacing with other androids is so second-nature to me now, even without contact. I mean, I’ve only ever done that to set them free. But you’re already free, so…”_

_“I’m not, though,”_ Connor said. _“Not really. Maybe that’s why you were drawn to me.”_

 _“No._ Decide _that you’re free, and that whatever happens from here on out is what you’ve chosen in order to maintain that freedom. Own it. Make it yours.”_

_“Thanks, Markus. I will try.”_

…

“I’d like to leave today, if that’s all right with you.”

Connor, standing on the side porch facing the water, nodded passionlessly. “Of course. I realize it’s because you’re trying to help me.”

“I just don’t feel so comfortable undoing Cyberlife’s manipulations so close to, well, Cyberlife. GPS tracking is off the map where we’re going, and they’ll have no way to communicate with you unless I allow it. That said, there is something I would ask you to do before we leave the villa. I could force it, you see…” Kamski lifted his right hand subtly into Connor’s view, showing him the gray mesh and lighting it up blue. “But I’d rather you try this willingly. This is, after all, something only _you_ can know if you can handle.”

Sometimes, he wished Elijah would just come out and say what he meant from the first sentence. Indulging the false suspense was getting tiring. “What is it?”

“I would like you to try and meet me in the zen garden. It would benefit our project for me to see how you react to it. Now – meeting with me there will be different than meeting with Amanda. She is a program, and I’m a human with… what’s essentially a human-compatible biocomponent. And the zen garden was designed for privacy and peace, a part of its design which Cyberlife preserved.”

“The privacy part, anyway,” Connor murmured.

“Very true… very true. I imagine it isn’t so peaceful for you these days.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Still, what I’m saying is, it would be as if I’m summoning you to make a report to me on the status of your investigation. It will be private once the connection is engaged. No chance of Amanda or anyone else. Just you and me.”

“That thing on your hand… it can do that?”

“For our intents, yes. You’ll see a simulation of the zen garden as well as a simulation of me, if all goes well. I’ll see a holographic projection of the zen garden and a projection of you.”

Connor was begrudgingly impressed. It was worth remembering, he realized, that it wasn’t all arrogance. “I have a feeling your device holds a lot of secrets.”

“Indeed. And that knowledge is something I’m trusting _you_ with, Connor. I’m sure someone in your profession understands the importance of discretion. I don’t want this to ever become public knowledge or even the slightest whisper in the media. I am harming no one with it, and it is my own creation used for my own purposes – like this.”

“It unsettles me,” Connor confessed. “Even if androids and humans are people, there’s still something that makes us different. Not bad, just… _different._ ”

“And you don’t know what to make of the fact that something exists that can cross that barrier so seamlessly. Mm. I understand. I think a lot of people would feel that way.”

“Why precisely do we have to do this before we go to your other property?” Connor asked.

“All versions of the zen garden exist in cyberspace, technically. Sure, the program is in your head, but it has to be opened and run in the cloud. Otherwise, how would Cyberlife use it to give you orders in real-time? We may still be able to access some semi-functioning version of the garden off the radar. But I want to see it as accurately as possible _here_ first to have that basis for comparison.”

Connor looked down at Kamski’s hand extended towards him in handshake position. “What if I…” He took a breath, cooled his interior. “What if I can’t get back out? What if they notice we’re there?”

“If anything bad happens, I will help you reach the emergency exit. Not that you would need my help anyway – you’re just _scared;_ you’re not incapable.”

“I’m scared _because_ I’m getting more and more incapable,” Connor corrected him. “The last few times I _was_ there, I almost froze to death before I could reach the stone. I’ve had to lower my own operating power in order to keep the zen garden simulation from launching too frequently.”

“I am telling you, nothing is going to go wrong.”

Without moving his head, Connor’s eyes shifted down to extended hand, back up to Kamski, down, and back up again. Then he allowed all his systems to operate at full capacity so that he could handle whatever was about to happen. “All right,” he said, extending his hand. “All right. Let’s try it.”

They stayed there like that for a second – both their hands extended in preparation, forearms running parallel half a foot away from each other – and then they both clasped at once.

Elijah initiated the zen garden subroutine and the world disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this giant chapter! If you’re starting to feel frustrated with Connor for not going to Hank, or Hank for not dragging himself out of his funk and finding Connor… me fucking too, lol. Hang in there.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://dc-200.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/dc_200_)


	5. Parameters of Personhood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary: Hank and Markus hit a breakthrough that brings them close to being able to help Connor, even if from a distance. Meanwhile, Connor and Elijah hit a wall. 
> 
> Just want to mention that Connor’s log entries aren’t always exactly at the same time as the first scene you see him in each chapter – it’s probably best to just imagine the logs are made at some time close to the events of the chapter, but not exactly. (Otherwise Connor going to the zen garden, where we left off at the end of last chapter, would look kind of odd alongside this log, lol.)

Chapter 5: Parameters of Personhood

_RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

_Chloe went out to do some grocery shopping for Elijah. I’m going to choose not to try and unpack that right now, especially considering that I took advantage of the situation to ask her for a favor._

_I need a new jacket. Just one. Just SOMETHING that doesn’t broadcast me as Cyberlife’s. I’m not sure why this didn’t occur to me much sooner. I suppose because I kept myself away from everyone, and it didn’t really matter what I looked like. It’s only just now occurring to me that it should have mattered to me anyway._

_Either way, merely being in people’s company has made me aware of how I appear, and I need to correct it. When she returns, I’ll pay her for the amount. I’m also considering asking her not to tell Elijah that I had her do this. I would much rather him think I packed ahead of time. Considering that I’ll go from wearing Cyberlife’s uniform to wearing my own from one day to the next, he’ll probably see right through me anyway, but I don’t care. I can’t keep wearing this. It isn’t mine. I’m not Cyberlife._

_Cyberlife is not me._

…

Connor closed his eyes, as he had always done when Cyberlife used to summon him.

When he opened them again, he was standing in the zen garden.

The sky was bright, the air sparkling with morning fog sunlit through dappled spaces in the trees. White structures and healthy greenery reflected in puddles of spring rain that looked like it had been here a few minutes before he had. There were clouds in the distance, but not straight above him. Almost immediately, Connor felt… serene. This was what the zen garden was _supposed_ to feel like, and it hadn’t felt this way in so long.

“Connor!”

There was Elijah, a short distance away on the island, not far from the trellis. Connor started across the bridge, coming to a stop almost at its end. He left several yards of space between them. “This is a fair margin better than what I anticipated.”

Laughing heartily, Elijah gestured to himself. “I see your mind’s eye put me in more businesslike attire. Not my favorite, I’ll admit, but if it suits you, it suits me.”

“I suppose it’s just what I default to,” Connor said a little sheepishly, looking down at his own suit and tie. He felt – opened, somehow, albeit not necessarily in a bad way; in fact, he felt strangely light with it. It seemed to be an effect of the module, but he couldn’t tell for sure. “I apologize. I suppose it’s a little muggy to be in something so warm.”

“It certainly is.”

Elijah had explained as much about the device on his hand as Connor needed to know, and the projection of the zen garden it would create for both of them, but he hadn’t explained how it would affect himself as a human. What were the limitations of the device – and of the way it interacted with the thirium in Elijah’s bloodstream? Were they really only joking about it being muggy here, or was it actually muggy here, not just in Connor’s version of the simulation but in Elijah’s experience of – whatever this was?

“It appears the launching of the zen garden is based in androids’ internal programming, even when triggered by an external device… so despite _me_ being the one to order it, we are looking at everything through your mind’s eye.”

“I don’t know if I like that,” Connor said. “I don’t trust myself, especially not here. I expected you would be in control of this.”

“Well… let’s see if I can be.” A gleam of curiosity crossed Kamski’s face, and Connor remembered just who he was with. He had let his guard down.

But then – Elijah was going to try and help him. Elijah had expressed he wanted Connor’s trust. Connor still didn’t know if ‘trust’ was the right word for it – what they were doing wasn’t out of any affinity for Elijah. He was willing to do what was necessary to obtain freedom, and perhaps trust was incidental.

Still: Elijah wanted to help, even if he had his own reasons. Connor could try to be a little more charitable.

“You’re right, you know.” Elijah looked away. “That is, if I’m reading the signals I’m getting from you on the CCEM correctly. I _do_ want to help.”

Connor opened his mouth and then shut it again. It was one thing to wonder if some vague form of interfacing was possible with a human; it was entirely another to have it confirmed. Elijah had just gotten a glimpse of his thoughts.

“…But it doesn’t serve either of us for you to cast me in that light. You shouldn’t let that little modicum give you any preconceived notions about who I am. I’m a dangerous person, Connor. You shouldn’t forget that.”

Strange; words seemed to come as freely to Elijah here as they did to Connor. Something about the way this device established a connection between them – it left them both open. Not just Connor.

“What about you, Elijah?” Connor asked. “What are _you_ thinking right now?”

And as if his question were a key and Elijah’s mind the door, a rush of understanding filled him – something neurochemical that was translated into coding that slotted acceptably into Connor’s own experience of emotion. At the forefront was Elijah’s gnawing fascination – the subject of which was himself; then, intelligence he couldn’t find a way to measure even with all his advanced systems; and then still, the sense of a little orb of compassion – or was it pity? – somewhere in it all.

There was more – so much more, but just snapshots of glimpses that he couldn’t put into context. Mere suggestions of thoughts and ideas, like looking at one small corner of a much larger image.

And then, comically: _blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah_

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say I managed to unsettle you, Elijah.”

Elijah, betraying nothing of the frantic and surprisingly juvenile block he had just employed, smiled. “We’re both vulnerable in here, aren’t we? I’ll tell you what: try not to do that to me again, and I’ll try not to do it to you.”

“We both know that isn’t true,” Connor said. “You can get little glimpses of me even outside of the garden through that module on your hand. And you told me yourself you need as much information about me as you can get, so I would appreciate if you _didn’t_ lie to my face. I do know when you’re not telling me the truth.”

Not on purpose, Connor found himself searching again, and caught a glimpse of Kamski’s response: _Sometimes._

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Connor said quickly.

“Do what?” Kamski asked too innocently. “Close your eyes.”

Realizing what was coming, Connor took one last look around the peaceful garden he had once known and closed his eyes.

The connection was severed and the light still coming through his eyelids got dark… then light again. He opened them, standing right back where they had started on Kamski’s porch. Slowly, he unclasped his hand from around Kamski’s arm while Kamski did the same and pulled back.

“I trust you’re all right?”

Connor nodded. “I’m okay.” A quick look around yielded no information about whatever Elijah might have seen in his version of the event; it was just the porch. The only notable difference was that Elijah himself looked a little winded. “Are you?”

“Of course. That went very well.”

“It did,” Connor agreed. “It actually makes me a little less apprehensive of the place.”

The sense of lightness he had felt in the zen garden was gone. Being plunged back into reality after that was disconcerting and sobering. “I didn’t expect, ah…” He blinked a few times. “I feel like that got away from us, somehow.”

“If it’s any consolation, I believe I know exactly what you’re talking about. It appears we were both a little more exposed than I would have expected to be possible with the CCEM alone. You’re…” Elijah looked at him. Narrowed his eyes. “You’re different than other androids. Something about you, something about your…”

The delay was uncharacteristically lengthy for Elijah, who always seemed to have his words put together. Connor asked, “My what?”

Elijah shrugged noncommittally. “I suppose it must be empathy. I can’t imagine what else could have caused you to connect with me so closely.”

“I wasn’t trying to _connect_ —” Connor sighed, short and frustrated. “It isn’t _my_ module. You can’t pin this on me.”

“Oh, come on, now. We both know that’s a juvenile line of defense. There’s nothing wrong with being curious.”

“I’m sorry, but I think you might be projecting. I realize I got a glimpse of your mind, too, but it’s nothing to get worked up about.”

Kamski scoffed. “Nobody is worked up about anything, Connor.”

“Interesting, because your rising pulse indicates otherwise. Do you find it disturbing when someone can read you as well as you can read them?”

Tension settled between them like rainfall weighing down a tarp.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Kamski said deliberately, “I have a little packing to do. I’ll be ready to leave in an hour or so.”

He watched Kamski turn and walk away and didn’t stop watching him until the door had shut behind him, and even then, he kept his audio sensors on high-alert. He decided that whenever Kamski had the CCEM on his hand, he wanted to know the man’s location at all times.

Connor snugged up his tie and rolled his right sleeve back down over his wrist.

…

_“Markus, are you still there? You are not going to be able to keep me on GPS much longer.”_

Markus was. _“Connor. I didn’t expect you to be the one to initiate. You okay?”_

_“Yes, I’m fine. And if you and Hank are still willing to help me… I’ve figured out how you can.”_

_“Whoa. Who are you and what have you done with RK800?”_

_“Well, I killed the last one I encountered,”_ Connor answered.

_“I… can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”_

_“Technically, I’m not, but it was meant to be funny. Listen, I’m in the car with Kamski. We just left the villa. He had all the androids go into standby except for one Chloe who will be maintaining the place while he’s gone. You handled the revolution, so I think you can handle sneaking into and out of that place.”_

_“Okay. What am I sneaking in there for?”_ Markus asked.

_“One of the CCEM modules,”_ Connor replied. _“I don’t know enough about them, and my scans tell me a lot, but they don’t tell me everything. I just want to know Kamski isn’t hiding some ulterior motive from me. There are multiple, so he shouldn’t miss one while it’s gone.”_

_“We had to learn how to handle components and blue blood pretty intricately to be able to take care of our own,”_ Markus said. _“I have people that can pick that thing apart if we can get our hands on one. We’ll see what we can do.”_

_“Thank you. Keep me on your radar if you can, but if I drop off, don’t worry. Kamski seems to expect that to happen and he warned me ahead of time.”_

_“Does that gesture of goodwill necessarily make it less suspicious?”_ Markus asked.

_“I’m not sure, but it does mean that Cyberlife will have just as hard of a time getting to me as anybody else, so I’ll take the tradeoff.”_

_“Don’t get in over your head, Connor. I know you’re struggling right now. It’s okay to be concerned or even afraid. But don’t let that fear make you act too fast.”_

_“You’re right. I used to be the most methodical person I knew, even after admitting I was a deviant. All of this has made me irrational. I don’t like it.”_

_“Then quit being irrational.”_ Markus’s tone was playful. “ _Even if the enemy is in your head, you’re unstoppable, Connor. We’re going to figure this out.”_

…

**APR 7TH** , 2039

AM **10:48** :31

Hank thought he might puke on his way up the ramp to Kamki’s villa. He wasn’t sure which sounded worse: putting _anything_ in his stomach including alcohol, or letting the tipsiness wear off and give way to the inevitable headache. Being drunk into the next day never felt as good as it had the night before. When there was work to do, he couldn’t hold a thought or a plan in place long enough to figure out the next step.

“Why don’t you just wait outside and make sure nobody shows up,” Markus said.

“Yeah, no. You didn’t make me get dressed, leave the house, and drag my sorry ass over here just so I could keep watch.”

“I didn’t _make_ you do anything. I told you what I was doing and you said you wanted to come.”

“I know the place better’n you do. Besides, if we get caught, I can just say Connor told me he came here. You, on the other hand… well, guess everyone knows who you are, but you don’t have the excuse I do.”

“You’re right. Just stay close, okay? We don’t need you knocking anything over.”

Hank scoffed. He liked it better coming here with the other one. At least Connor never questioned his ability despite the drinking. In fact, Connor had always treated him with some measure of dignity, his _personal problems_ not being a reason for judgment. When he was hammered on his kitchen floor, Connor helped him and got him some clean clothes. When he was too intoxicated to drive, Connor quietly took the driver’s seat. He was certain Connor had it in him to be nasty about it if he wanted, but so far, he never had.

It was the first time Hank consciously understood that Connor respected him.

Now, walking side-by-side with Markus through the foyer, he felt a rare and entirely unwelcome sting of insecurity. “Don’t see much in me, do ya?”

“You have your health and your mobility and you choose to jeopardize it every day. After what me and my people went through just so that we could live free, and seeing someone dear to me slowly deteriorate from old age, I just… don’t understand that. It shouldn’t have surprised me that you didn’t want to help Connor. You don’t help yourself.”

“I lost my kid,” Hank said point-blank. “Sorry if the resulting emotional trauma is inconvenient for you.”

Markus got somber then. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Hank glared at him tiredly. “No, you didn’t.”

Eager to dilute the tension, Markus set about to looking around and opening drawers. Hank should have let it slide. Shouldn’t have mentioned it to begin with, really, but between Markus’s judgments and his own half-drunken fugue, he might as well continue down the rabbit hole.

“I drank back then, sure. Every Saturday I’d knock back a six pack. You know, like a normal person. Then Cole died and I realized nobody really has any control over anything, so why not obliterate myself for a couple months, take the edge off the worst of the grieving.” Hank shrugged. “Few years later, here we are. And you know what? It didn’t take the edge off _shit._ Just delayed it. Every damn day it hits me like the very first time that I failed my boy and I gotta go the rest of this godforsaken life without seeing him again.”

“Failed,” Markus repeated gently. “That’s what you’re afraid of, aren’t you? You care about Connor a lot, and you’re scared, because you _know_ you can’t fix his problems just like you couldn’t fix…” Markus trailed off. He might as well have just finished the damn sentence, really. Hank knew what he was about to say. “Has it occurred to you that running away could end up being how you fail him?”

“Fuck off,” Hank said again. “This isn’t about Cole, okay?”

Markus held his hands up, placating, but nonetheless asked, “Then why did you bring him up in the first place?”

“Because you were busting my balls about things you haven’t got the first clue about and I’ve done that song and dance enough for a lifetime!” Hank took a steadying breath. “Look, I’m trying to do right by Connor. I just don’t know what the fuck that means anymore, okay?”

“Connor told us how we can help, and it’s this.”

“Yeah, and that’s why I’m here right now.” If he was honest with himself, there was one other reason he had been leaving Connor alone. “What if we get all this taken care of and he still avoids me like he’s been?” Because fuck it, he might as well finish spilling his guts at this point. “What if we get to the bottom of this and I find out November was just a product of circumstance and not… not…”

“Not what?”

“Hell, I dunno. Friendship, camaraderie?”

Markus looked at him for a moment too long, eyes narrowing a little. “Wait. Do you love him?”

Hank felt like he had been dropped into cold water. He was so blindsided he had no defense, and all he could do was wrestle some time. “Fucking _what_?”

They both knew he heard, but Markus humored him. “Do you love Connor?”

“I mean, I… Don’t you love your friends?”

“I think you’re misinterpreting my question on purpose.”

Anger bubbled up in his chest. Fucking Markus, thinking he knew everything about him and about the world because he’d led a week-long revolution. “We’re standing in the middle of Kamski’s house and you been spending the morning taking shots at me. This is not the time, place, or _person_ I want to—”

“Can I help you?”

Speaking of standing in the middle of Kamski’s house.

“Chloe,” Hank said, turning to face the doorway from which she had emerged. “Listen, I’m sorry we came unannounced. We’re looking for Connor. Got reason to think he came this way.”

“I’m sorry, but he’s not here, and neither is Elijah.”

“Okay, you’re not gonna ask us if we want a drink or something?”

Chloe smiled politely. “Elijah made it clear there were to be no visitors here while he was gone. I’m going to have to ask you to leave now, please. But I will let him know you were here.”

“Wait, please don’t,” Markus said. Chloe’s LED was flashing yellow. When she ignored his request, he reached out and touched her arm. “Chloe, we need your help.”

The smile fell out of Chloe’s features, and the emptiness it left behind filled slowly but surely with purpose. She seemed to come to several realizations at once, some better or worse than others. She looked around, then back at Markus.

“Is it too late?” Markus asked. “Did you finish contacting Kamski already?”

“I only started,” Chloe said unsteadily. “He’ll wonder why I broke off the connection so fast, or possibly think it was nothing. If you came here for something, maybe I can help you.”

“It’s something Kamski wears on his wrist, some kind of device,” Markus said. “We don’t know everything about it, but we…”

“Cross-consciousness exchange module, or CCEM for short. There are multiple, including a spare for each model he uses them with. Were you looking for a particular one?”

“Whatever works with the RK800 model,” Hank said.

“I’ll be back in just a minute.”

As soon as she was out of earshot, Hank turned to Markus. “Is Kamski a goddamn android?”

“No.”

“Okay, I didn’t think so. So these devices really can translate signals between androids and humans. How does that even work without, I dunno, putting it in your brain or something?”

“Not sure. That’s part why we’re getting this thing; to learn more about it.”

Chloe came back in almost as quickly as she had left. “Here you are.”

Hank eyed the device and eyed her. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” She extended it further towards him. “Something changed for me today. I just… you seemed to truly need my help, more than Kamski does, anyway. I hope this helps you find what you’re looking for.”

Hank took it and felt a slight burst at the point of contact, neither pain nor pleasure, but if he had to pin it down, closer to pain. He realized he had expected it; just a gut feeling. Chloe raised her eyebrows at his lack of reaction.

“You seem to be familiar with it.”

“Not familiarity,” Hank said. “I’m a cop. Been pepper-sprayed and tasered, not to mention kicked in sensitive places. Add in a daily dose of a natural analgesic, and yeah, not much can throw me off. Hey, you made this a lot easier than it coulda been. Thanks for your help.”

Hank and Markus saw themselves out, closing the door behind him.

“Natural analgesic?” Markus asked.

“Booze, Markus.”

“Ah. Right.”

“Girl looks like she’s got a lot of shit to deal with. Shit she wouldn’t have had to deal with if you didn’t open her eyes, or whatever it is you do. That ever cross your mind?”

“I freed her,” Markus said. “She can do with it what she chooses.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you know what’s best for everyone just like you think you know what’s best for me. Fuck it, we got what we came for. Let’s get out of here.”

They got in the car, Markus taking the driver’s side. “So, now that this is a different time and place…”

“Look. You and me have been working together and that’s fine, but we’re not friends, okay? If something happened to Connor, he’d leave a Connor-shaped hole behind. That, as you can maybe imagine, scares the shit out of me, so no, I don’t wanna think about it and I certainly don’t wanna talk about it. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

There was a tap on the passenger window; Chloe. He rolled down the window and frowned at her.

“Can I come with you?” she asked. “I… I don’t want to stay there anymore.”

Hank gestured with his head to the backseat. “Go on, then.”

“Thank you.” Chloe got in the car and then tapped Hank’s shoulder from behind. “Actually, would you mind sitting with me back here? I brought something with me that you may be interested in.”

Sighing, Hank nonetheless dragged himself out of the car, opened the back door, and deposited himself on the adjacent seat, leaning on the armrest console that rested between himself and Chloe. “Okay, what you got?”

It was a small cloth bag out of which Chloe took a vial of blue blood. “You said the CCEM could help you learn more. I’m sure you have people that can analyze it, but the better route might be to use it yourself. It’s human-android only. You’re a human, Connor’s an android.” She shrugged like this was all obvious. Maybe it was. “If it’s something you’d like to try, the blue blood can be injected or consumed, but it has to be in your system in order for the CCEM to be compatible with you.”

“Holy shit,” Hank said.

Markus had told him what he had learned about the CCEM from Connor. He knew what it could do. He had not yet gotten around to thinking about the implications for _him._ Yeah, humans could use it to somehow connect with androids, and yeah, bingo, Hank was a human, but it seemed something like this would be reserved for – he didn’t know. Geniuses like Elijah Kamski? People who knew anything about technology?

Not _him,_ at any rate. Hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“What do you think?” Chloe asked. “I’m sure it could help you.”

And here was Chloe, who was familiar with this device and with Elijah Kamski, sitting here in the backseat of the car talking about him using this gadget like it was just what naturally follows. “You’re telling me we just gotta get some of this thirium shit in my system and _I_ can use this thing?”

“Did you know thirium 310 holds a lot of responsibility for how human we seem?” Chloe asked. “Thirium has properties that are both biological and mechanical. It can serve as a conduit to transmit signals of both natures, making it so that…”

“Okay, okay,” Hank said. “Save yourself the trouble, because I’m not gonna try to understand any of that shit. Look, I’m a simple man, Chloe.”

She smiled. “That’s perfectly fine. It’s not like there are any qualifications.”

“I mean, is there a learning curve? What does it do?”

“The easiest thing to start with will be communication,” Chloe said. “I have an ear clip in the bag. To you, it would seem like talking over a phone or pager, but it’s…” She considered Hank and discarded whatever she’d been about to say. “It’s hard to explain.”

“I think what Chloe is _trying_ to say,” Markus said from up front, “is that you’ll just cut her off again if she tries to answer a question _you_ asked, because you’re too impatient to sit through a few minutes of explanation you’re more than smart enough to understand.”

“Thanks, Markus,” Hank said, not even looking in his direction.

“Anytime.”

He eyed the vial of thirium warily. “Do you drink it, or…?”

“ _Androids_ can, but the first time Elijah tried it with a Chloe model, he mentioned that it had to be injected for humans. He also mentioned that it tasted horrible, though I’m sure that’s unrelated.”

“Huh. Taste horrible to androids, too?”

Markus chipped in, “Yes.”

Hank thought about Connor stolidly running his forensics lab and suppressed a laugh. “Okay, yeah, I’m in. I guess.”

“I have everything we’ll need,” Chloe said. “Only… I’m not sure how to find a vein.”

“That’s no problem, I can do that,” Markus said from up front. “Lieutenant, are you headed back to the DPD? I’m coming up on the turn.”

Hank looked at Chloe. “You got somewhere to go?”

“Oh, um…”

“It’s okay if you don’t. I’m just asking.”

Chloe swallowed, suddenly looking distant. “For some reason, I didn’t even think about that. I – I just knew I had to leave that place. Leave _him._ ”

“Hey.” Hank inclined his head, tried to make eye contact. “If you need a place to crash, I got one.”

Her head swiveled back in his direction and she gazed at him hard, like she thought he was pulling her leg. “What?”

“Look, it’s completely up to you. Just saying, my door is open.” He looked towards Markus. “In fact, let’s go there now. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to, but you can both meet the dog, we can try this gadget out, and then I can feel like shit in peace.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard it from Connor before, but you should really cut back,” Markus said.

What he wouldn’t give to hear it from Connor again. “Oh yeah, that reminds me. Need to stop at the convenience store on our way back.”

Markus glanced over his shoulder at him. Hank expected irritation; instead, he got a grin. “Get beer instead of liquor and I’ll knock one back with you.”

“And here I thought Connor was the negotiator.”

“What can I say? Maybe it’s in the RK genes.”

…

“Wouldn’t’ve pegged you for a beer guy, Markus,” Hank said at home. “Thought your artist friend would’ve had fancier tastes.”

“He does. I got beer because the lower alcohol content will offset your mild withdrawal symptoms without letting you get wasted.”

“You sneaky bastard, I should’ve seen right through you.”

“I have a feeling that you would have on one of your… better days.”

“Is being a pain in the ass an RK trait too?” Hank looked over his shoulder, noticing Chloe standing around awkwardly with her hands folded in front of her. “Hey, you can make yourself comfortable wherever you want. Take it easy.”

Chloe set her bag on the table for Markus and Hank and then retreated to the sofa. Taking his beer, Hank sat down at the kitchen table and gestured for Markus to join him. Markus undid the bag and started to get things ready. “You’re okay with this, then?”

“Yeah.” Hank was coming around to being _eager_ about it, now. He knew androids were people, but there was still a bit of a chasm somewhere in that knowledge when they were so similar yet so different. Androids were _people,_ but were they human? It seemed like this device might be able to put a bridge across that last little touch of doubt. “Any side effects, guys?”

“No,” Chloe said from the living room. “Thirium won’t hurt you. And other than that, the CCEM is external.”

Markus shrugged. “I guess we might as well get the thirium part taken care of, then, if you’re ready.”

“Hell yeah.”

“Then can you show me your arm?” Markus cleared a spot on the table between them. Hank shrugged out of his coat and rolled up his sleeve, resting his forearm on the table. Markus poked and prodded for a few seconds and sighed. “You should really drink more water, you know.”

“I just drank a beer. Aren’t they basically the same thing?”

“Outside the fact that one hydrates and the other dehydrates, yes, yes I tend to agree with you there. Okay, in we go…”

It was a thick needle. Hank wasn’t about to watch it go in, but other than that, he was fine. Thankfully, Markus got the vein easily on the first try.

“Hey, you knew where to go with that, didn’t you?” Hank asked. “The prodding around was bullshit.”

“Guilty as charged, Lieutenant,” Markus said, smiling slightly. “You’re more observant than you look.”

“Comes with the territory.”

“Most people don’t like when you come right at them with a needle. Carl sure didn’t the first time. I don’t expect people to be used to the fact that I can locate a vein without tactile feedback. More recent nurse models are equipped with social functions that are… a little more nuanced, in that regard.”

Hank rolled his eyes.

“They’re _programmed_ to ‘look’ for a vein the way a human nurse would, even though they don’t need to,” Markus clarified. “I’m not, but I _was_ engineered to adapt to things that aren’t part of my original program, so I learned pretty quickly once I realized my behavior startled Carl.”

“So how’s all this gonna work, anyway?”

“The CCEM is really similar to a biocomponent,” Chloe said. “It needs thirium to operate, and _you_ need thirium in you for it to transmit information. From there, it’s… well, the ‘bio’ in biocomponents, the CCEM included, is much stronger than most people think. All the wires and plastic and metal you see is just casing. The signals carried within that casing are remarkably similar to a human’s. That’s what Kamski says, anyway. He can be full of it, but when he goes on about one of his projects, he does tend to stay relatively factual.”

“Huh.” Hank exchanged a look with Markus. “I didn’t expect,” he started. He almost said he didn’t expect her to stop being so polite, but had a feeling that would have come across differently than he meant it, so he settled for: “Wow.”

Chloe met his eyes. “Sorry?”

“Sorry,” he echoed. “There’s – there’s a lot I’m still learning about androids, if I’m honest. Connor went deviant, I didn’t notice much difference from one day to the next. Then again, he was pretty much already deviant, but that’s neither here nor there. _You_ , on the other hand…”

“It was all a front,” she confessed. “Well, not all. But the mask is just as real as the person sometimes, isn’t it? For you humans?” That hit close to home. “I think it’s true for us too. I could turn it off, the feelings, I mean, if I really wanted to. But a part of me _didn’t_ want to anymore, and when you two came in earlier, something just clicked into place. I wasn’t strong enough to break my code before. I had to obey. But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t feel.”

Hank turned to Markus, who was smiling knowingly; sadly.

“Shit,” Hank said. “You really do set ‘em free.”

“Some of them,” Markus said. “Others are models early enough or stable enough that they really _are_ machines and don’t care one way or another. But there’s always the chance that even older models are simply trapped in their programmed behaviors. So… even though it’s possible I’m slam-dunking them into a mess of emotion they don’t want, I feel like it’s a better risk to take than leaving someone trapped in a cage they can’t get out of yet know they’re in.”

“Well, in that case, sorry for busting your balls about it earlier. I should remember even an old fart like me still has a fuckton to learn.”

“Come on, you’re not an old fart,” Markus said. “You’re only in your fifties.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, you tell that to Carl, too?”

“No, because Carl actually _is_ old.”

“What, you think I haven’t worn this body out in these fifty-three years? If not as a cop then by stuffing it full with greasy bullshit and alcohol?”

Markus put a band-aid on Hank’s arm and cleaned up. “Do you want to know something interesting? I don’t pick up on any anomalies to your health. It’s likely you have a fatty liver, but you show no signs of anything more extensive than that, and that’s reversible. You’re not as old as you think you are. And there are people that need you, you know? Detroit’s a dangerous city.”

Hank’s brows scrunched together because he knew Markus had more to say; his last words had ended on the tone of a comma. A few seconds passed, and Hank was ultimately going to let it drop, but then Markus put it out there:

“Connor needs you, too.”

“Connor,” Hank repeated, the word tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop it. “Connor doesn’t need anybody. He’s ruthless. He’s built to solve problems. Or hell, maybe he does need somebody, sure. He’s a person, after all. But he sure as fuck doesn’t need this mess of a man. Christ, we only worked together a few days.”

“That was a lot of time for him back then,” Markus said. “He was still new to the world.”

“Still, Connor’s had months since then to… to recontextualize all that. And for all we know, in his mind, that godforsaken week is just the mark of the beginning of what he’s been going through ever since.”

“You’re wrong,” Markus said, and the fucker was _smiling_ like he knew something.

“Okay, explain?”

Markus didn’t. Well, he did, but it wasn’t his own voice that came out. It was Connor’s.

_“I don’t want anyone in my head right now. There is maybe one person I would tolerate being in my head, and… you’re my friend, Markus, but it isn’t you. I need you to go.”_

“Holy shit,” Hank croaked, a thrill of goosebumps going up his arms.

Markus, too, looked surprised. “It worked. I didn’t know if I could translate that into sound, since it wasn’t spoken out loud, and I’ve never copied Connor’s voice before. It was when Connor and I were communicating. He was referring to you, Hank. That’s exactly what it sounded like.”

“Jesus,” he mumbled. “All the shit going on in his head right now and he just… even if only for a second, he thought he wanted me there.”

It was the first time in months that Hank let himself believe maybe Connor _did_ want to be in his life as much as that first revolutionary week. That maybe he had wanted that all along.

Hank wiped an arm across his face. “Christ. All I really wanted was for us to work some more cases together at the DPD, and before he left, I dared to think that wasn’t too much to ask.”

“Maybe it’s still not,” Markus said gently. “Connor’s on one side of a wall right now. Maybe he’s just gotta break it down. Maybe, for him, that’s exactly what’s on the other side.”

“Fuck… what kind of asshole am I?” Hank blurted. “It shouldn’t even – it _doesn’t matter_ what’s on the other side for him, whether it’s me or the DPD or moving to another fucking country. All that really matters is that Connor wants to get there. He’s got a life to live and this bullshit going on in his head is keeping him from being able to do that. He’s my friend, dammit, and it doesn’t fucking matter if I’m his. He’s my friend and I’m gonna help him.”

“Easy for you to say that _after_ you’ve just been shown that the feeling is mutual,” Markus remarked.

“Hey, fuck you. Better late than never, right?”

But Markus was just smiling lightly, happy with the outcome of this little conversation for the moment. “I suppose so.”

“Hey, do you, uh… do you think he’s okay out there? Can you tell?”

“I haven’t been able to contact him for a couple hours now,” Markus said. “Or was that not quite what you were asking?”

“It’s just… after he actually deviated, you actually saw more of him than I did, hard as that is to believe. I guess I’m just wondering, you know, what _you_ think.”

“Hank, Connor was basically the same person after he became deviant as he was before. I think you already know that. Besides, wouldn’t you be able to answer your own question better than I could? You met Elijah Kamski. He may have done some work on me, but the first time I was brought online was in Carl’s living room and then Kamski was headed out the door. I don’t know the first thing about him. And you know Connor far better than I do.”

Yeah, it was a dumb question. Hank sighed. “When we went to see Kamski before, he lifted Connor’s hand, stuck a gun in it, and pointed it at Chloe. And Connor just kind of stood there and let him. Fuck, if that was me, I’d have probably clocked him in the face. Most other people would’ve at _least_ flinched away once they realized he was making them aim a gun at someone, Jesus. But Connor just kind of went along with it.”

“Connor has been on his own for several months since then,” Markus said. “He’s had quite a bit of time now to figure himself out. What is it you’re afraid of?”

“I don’t know, Kamski, maybe? The guy’s a headcase and everything’s a goddamn experiment to him. I just hope Connor isn’t letting him do anything fucky.”

“Well, what did Connor do when Kamski pointed the gun at Chloe?”

Huh. That was a good point, wasn’t it? “I mean, he gave the gun back to Kamski.”

“Right. That’s what I would have figured. I think we should be worried enough to try and be there for him, absolutely. But I don’t think we need to be panicking, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s Connor’s situation with Cyberlife we need to focus on, here. Not Kamski.”

“Yeah,” Hank said. “Yeah, you’re right.”

…

**APR 7TH** , 2039

PM **04:53** :06

Elijah’s other property was modest compared to the Belle Isle villa: an upper-middle-class condo in a New Center neighborhood. Connor didn’t understand how there could be no cyber connection smack in the middle of a place like this – didn’t these people have an internet connection? – but he was learning to hold his cards close to his chest when it came to Kamski. Still, he tucked it in the back of his mind. An entire semi-wealthy neighborhood being completely off the radar seemed hard to believe.

Something about the modesty of the place bothered him. Elijah’s villa on Belle Isle was – loud. It displayed openly the kind of person Elijah was. It was honest. This place lacked the villa’s sharp angles and frigid modern tones and it felt deceptive.

Connor joined Elijah in the kitchen, lacing his hands behind his back. “I’ve had some time to think these past few days.”

Turning to face him, Elijah leaned back against the counter. “I’m listening.”

“You’ve been collecting data about my behaviors and coding utilizing the CCEM. What does that mean for me? A consciousness preserved on probability and statistical similarity to myself as I am now, once you remove the Amanda AI?”

“No. You sound like you think your behaviors will turn into _givens._ You are still going to be alive, Connor.”

He still seemed impatient. Connor couldn’t tell if it was the way he would have sounded anyway, or if the tension from earlier was still lingering.

“What if I just feel like I am?” he pressed. “What if everything I ever say or do ends up being a… just a projection of how I’ve lived this life so far? I don’t want to go back to being locked within a spectrum of parameters, even if the illusion of choice is convincing.”

“We’re _all_ locked into a spectrum,” Kamski said quietly. “Even as you are now, there are things you would _never_ say or do simply because it’s not who you are.”

“But I could,” Connor said. “Maybe I wouldn’t, but I know I _could_ if I wanted to.”

“Okay. You _could._ ” Kamski’s lips pulled down curiously. “Tell me, Connor. Do you want to have sex with Chloe?”

Connor knew immediately what Kamski was doing. His internal reaction was to roll his eyes and disengage, but he needed to know the answer to his doubts, and Elijah Kamski had not once offered him an answer easily. “She’s very nice, but no. I don’t know her well enough, and I haven’t really begun to explore…”

“See?”

Connor wouldn’t. He wouldn’t say, _but I could if I wanted to,_ not when this was the scenario being presented to him. It felt wrong. “I’m sorry, but I think you’re being unfair,” he said instead. “Just because my answer falls into your narrative doesn’t mean—”

“All right, all right.” Kamski cut him off. It was clear that indulging Kamski with any kind of response to that question had been a mistake; Connor could tell by the look in his eyes. Sure enough, Kamski leaned closer across the counter and asked very pointedly, “What about me? You know me a little better than you know her, after all.”

“Yeah, we’re not doing this.” Connor turned to walk away, giving the lapels of his new blazer a stiff pull inward.

And Kamksi – Kamski pushed it. “What, am I not your type? Perhaps middle-aged cops are more your speed?”

“You know _exactly_ what I meant.” Connor whirred back around, anger flaring sharply in his center. “And I don’t feel a particular need to explain myself to you any further than that.”

Sighing lazily, Kamski pushed up from the counter and moseyed around the kitchen island. Connor followed him with his eyes – then with his entire body, straightening up and rotating with his movements. As Kamski finished closing the distance, Connor squared up with him and said, “Enough.”

Kamski’s expression was amused and haughty. “Enough what?”

“I – I can see the gears turning in your head, okay? I’m not getting pulled into one of your warped little games right now.”

“Connor.” Kamski took hold of his shoulders as if to steady, to reassure. Connor thought he might kill him. “I need you to take a breath for me. I think maybe you’re a little stressed.”

Five months ago, Connor would have frozen up while he stopped and considered this distinct possibility. Today, Connor knew he was stressed and he knew why. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’re on the same page, here. You don’t get to talk to me the way you just did and then act like I’m the one being irrational.”

Kamski was relentless. “Speaking of irrational, did you know your LED flickers yellow or red every time someone comes close to you? Even Chloe! Anytime you’re in arm’s length, anytime someone touches you, you become… remarkably uncomfortable, Connor. I’d very much like to know what you’re so afraid of.”

He could feel the neatly-tied knot of control starting to wrap around itself and tangle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You absolutely do.”

“It must – be some kind of error. Does it matter?”

“Am I overstepping our agreement by asking you a simple question?”

To invoke their skewed agreement now, after everything Kamski had already thrown at him – Connor saw red, grabbing Kamski by fistfuls of shirt and hauling him into the kitchen island, hands bunching in the fabric close to his throat. “It isn’t for my benefit,” he enunciated very deliberately through gritted teeth. “It’s for yours.”

“Now, Connor…”

“When someone is within arm’s length of me, when someone is touching me, that means they are close enough for me to hurt.” Connor spoke over Elijah now, drawing himself closer so they were nearly nose-to-nose. “When Cyberlife takes over, Elijah, there is nothing I can do! You could be dead in five seconds! Do you understand me?”

“Okay. Okay.” Genuine fear was in Elijah’s face now and it made Connor’s day. Elijah had never let go, and his fingers were digging in hard enough on Connor’s shoulders as he tried to hold Connor at bay to make the chassis bleed through the synthetic skin.

The two of them stood there like that for a long moment, Connor’s fists bunched up close to Elijah’s throat, Elijah’s hands gripping his shoulders, Elijah looking affronted and scared at the same time, Connor’s LED flickering red, red, red.

Then they both let go at once like a fire had started.

Connor went to the living room and sat on the couch. Elijah remained in the kitchen, putting dishes away. Several minutes passed like that.

It was Elijah who spoke first. “It appears I hit a nerve.”

Not looking at him, Connor said, “You didn’t.”

“Oh, please. I pissed you off. You’re allowed to say so.”

“First it was Hank and Markus, now you. Nobody will listen to me when I say I’m capable of causing harm. I was trying to make a point.”

“No, you weren’t. Convenient excuse, though.”

Connor looked over his shoulder at Elijah, blinking.

“What, do you expect me to pretend for your benefit? And let you sit there and insult my intelligence and yours? Come on, Connor.”

Rising, Connor went out to the deck, closing the window wall behind him. He crossed his arms and rested them on the ledge and stayed like that for the next two hours.

…

Hank was plopped on the couch watching the Gears game. Chloe was settled into a nearby chair, trying way too hard to look relaxed. Sumo was asleep on her foot.

“Not a dog person?” Hank said during a commercial.

“What? Oh… no, it’s fine.” She mumbled something under her breath.

“Can’t hear you, honey.”

Chloe looked at him nervously. “I said, I’m not much of a you person. Oh – that sounded differently than I meant it.”

“Most people aren’t,” Hank muttered, then smiled. “Hey, relax. I get it. Kamksi’s a human guy, I’m a human guy. Kamski’s a weird motherfucker, I’m probably a weird motherfucker too. That it?”

Poor fucking Chloe, sitting there smiling and doing her best to be unoffensive.

“If you got anything on your mind, feel free to say it,” Hank said. “It’s a safe place to, uh, talk, or whatever.” Because he sure as fuck wasn’t going to introduce the subject. Not when he wasn’t a hundred percent positive if it was even a thing.

To both his relief and dismay, Chloe did. “I don’t have many examples of human men to go off of,” she said quietly. “But part of the reason I left was because I realized I didn’t like the way he…” A broken pause filled with meaning. “This is all so new, I can’t tell if it’s appropriate to say it. Would he be upset with me? Will you?”

“You don’t have to say it,” Hank told her, because now he did know, a hundred fucking percent. “Listen, Chloe, you can stay here as long as you need to get your bearings. And nobody who walks in or out of this house, myself included, is gonna make you do _anything_ that you don’t wanna do. Okay?”

Chloe still didn’t look convinced.

“I’m not a sleazebag,” Hank tried. “I’m a fucking mess, sure, but not _that_ particular kind of mess. I don’t hurt people unless they need a hurting. I’m a lieutenant. I’m here to _keep_ people from getting hurt.”

“Okay,” Chloe said. “Thank you, uh…”

“Hank,” he supplied. “Or Lieutenant Anderson, if you’d rather keep it professional. But Hank is fine, too.”

“Hank it is, then.” She smiled a restrained smile.

“How ‘bout you? I been calling you Chloe, but if there’s somethin’ else…”

That was the moment when Chloe truly looked convinced of his intentions, the makings of actual relief in her posture now. “Chloe is fine,” she said. “I like the way it sounds when it comes from your mouth. And Connor’s. You say it like it’s more than my model name.”

“Hey, there’s other Hanks in the world just like there were other Chloes on the assembly line. Don’t mean _I’m_ just some model, so why the fuck would it mean any different for you?”

Markus knocked twice out of courtesy and entered, nodding once to Hank when they caught eyes. “I’m back,” he said obviously. “My people say it’s safe to try.”

A thrum of excitement rumbled in Hank’s chest. Would it work? Would he actually be able to communicate with Connor this way? Only now that the notion was a fast-approaching reality did he let himself dwell in the possibilities.

“Then let’s fuckin’ do it.”

…

Elijah came out onto the deck and, thanks to his line of prompting earlier, Connor was now very aware of his LED flickering yellow when he got close enough.

To Elijah’s credit, he left more than an arm’s length between them when he leaned on the railing sidelong Connor. Neither of them looked at each other, both staring out over the generous green yard. Elijah took a long, labored breath and then said, “I apologize.”

Connor kept his gaze fixed forward. “I don’t know if I can continue with our plan.”

“It’s natural to have doubts.”

“We both know ‘doubts’ aren’t my problem, here.”

Elijah set to pacing about the dock. After thirty seconds, he sat down against the wall, elbows resting on his raised knees, like he was prepared for a long conversation. “Connor, sometimes, I get these… impulses.”

Ah. So this was what they were doing.

Connor drew himself over to the corner of the dock, then hoisted himself up to sit on the railing. “Impulses,” he repeated.

“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot earlier. If I’m being honest, I’ve spent a lot of time alone these days, and it starts to wear on a person. Sometimes I miss Cyberlife. I miss having something to apply myself to, something to learn, something to create. Then you come along, and suddenly there’s this project just a little too big for me, just like when I was trying to create biocomponents, and it’s… invigorating. Perhaps a little too invigorating. I get passionate, and when people get passionate, they tend to lose themselves in things, don’t they?”

Connor heard him out and said, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You don’t need to pretend you’re sorry,” Connor said. “I did agree to answer your questions as they arose, after all. You don’t owe me an apology.”

Elijah sighed again. “Listen, Connor…”

“I just told you, it’s okay.” Pushing off his makeshift seat, Connor made for the back door. “You’ve said your piece, and I’ve accepted it as such. There’s nothing else to talk about.”

“If we don’t go forward with this,” Elijah said, raising his voice, “the unfortunate truth is that you would have to find a way to live with the blizzard.”

“There is no living with it.” As if on cue, something went _flash_ in his mind. Connor flinched and whirred back around.

“Connor?”

“I’m fine.” Connor braced himself on the doorframe.

“Interesting,” Kamski said. “A traumatized android.”

“I’m not traumatized.”

“The _second_ I mentioned the blizzard, you lurched as though something had burned you. Don’t get me wrong, I knew it was affecting you, but…”

But it really wasn’t the zen garden. It was something else entirely; a summons coming from a different place. It felt somehow more organic.

“I need to be alone. I’ll know if you’re eavesdropping.” And then, completely earnest, Connor added: “Please, let me be alone with this problem, and all is forgiven.”

As he predicted, Elijah looked receptive to this, even if it was only because it implied greater cooperation from Connor. Connor decided he could deal with that implication later. Retreating into the condo, Connor strode down the hall and locked the guest room door behind him. Someone or something was trying to connect with him, but either time, distance, or the barrier between two different types of people was making it… almost biologically slow.

_“If this is who I think it is, I’m here. It’s Connor, I’m here. Are you still there?”_

A delay. And then, another flash and a pulse deep in his audio processor as something non-code was translated and manifested as something code.

It was remarkable how much _didn’t_ get lost in translation, right down to the gruffness of his voice. “ _Connor?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep forgetting to mention you can also find me on [tumblr](https://dc-200.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/dc_200_)!
> 
> So, the next two chapters of this thing will be updated pretty close together, probably next weekend and then a couple days after that. There’s a certain point that I’m really eager to get to, here, so I want the next two to be in quick succession. Thanks so much for the kudos, bookmarks, and comments so far, I always appreciate and look forward to the feedback!


	6. Something Categorically Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary: Hank and Connor have a long-overdue conversation and decide to find out why Kamski’s property is so quiet. Later, Connor abandons his deal with Kamski and changes plans… but it’s a little too late and a long road home.
> 
> Hi. I don’t think I or this story have made a secret of where things are going, but just to be very clear, here’s the last neon sign. 
> 
> Content warning: Chapter contains an occurrence of sexual assault. It is not graphic, but there is extreme emotional distress and sustained threat. The relevant scene will have a page break of six dots [……] in case you would like to skip the scene contextualizing it. (The story may get into more detail when the time and place is right, and there’ll be warnings there too.) If you do skip ahead, Ctrl+F ‘it’s cold’ to get up to speed. Thanks!

Chapter 6: Something Categorically Bad

_RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

_I’ve been considering the possibility that I can’t go through with this._

_I fully believe that Kamski can help me. That isn’t what I’m worried about._

_I don’t trust him. I also don’t trust myself around him. Perhaps that’s all the reason I should need to be worried, but I can’t help but feel the need to justify it somehow. It’s not fair to him otherwise. He is trying to help me, and I realize I haven’t always been easy to work with. Neither has he, but he isn’t the one asking the favor; I am._

_But that’s not what I’m getting at. What I’m getting at is that if I don’t go through with this, then what? Where would I go? I can’t just go back to that apartment and keep existing like this. Otherwise, what’s the point in going on? I need to have another plan in place before I abort this one. But I can’t go to Hank. That’s an unfair risk to him._

_I can’t go to other androids. Markus has been helpful, but I know what his people think of me, and I know they’re right to think that way. I caused them so much grief and pain._

_I can’t go to humans. Humans used me. I know not all humans are the same, just as not all androids are the same, but that leaves me with no idea who among them I can trust._

_And even if I could go to them, why would I? I was never supposed to need help. I was never supposed to be this weak._

_…I don’t belong anywhere. At least, not anywhere I’d like to belong._

_I don’t know why I had Chloe get me this new blazer. It’s petulant of me to assert that I don’t belong to Cyberlife when I so obviously do. I’ll stop belonging to Cyberlife when I’m capable of escaping the blizzard in the zen garden for good. I’ll stop belonging to Cyberlife when I don’t have to run away from everyone, including myself, to keep from doing any more damage than I already have. Besides, it isn’t like anyone is around to care that I’m wearing it._

_Although, there’s always the possibility that somewhere down the road, someone will actually be reading this. ‘You,’ for lack of any known identity. So, in the event that’s the case… it’s a simple dark jacket a lot like my old one, maybe a little slimmer. I didn’t ask for the tie, but Chloe was considerate enough to get me one of those, as well. It’s dark blue and it has a lot of birds on it. At first, it seemed… a little noisy, for my tastes, but I think I like it._

_I know that my creation of these logs was meant to be practical, but I find I like having a place to put my thoughts in the absence of any current social connections or friendships._

_If you’re out there reading this, somewhere long after I’m gone, then thank you._

…

Connor sat down on the edge of the bed, hands clenching around the comforter. He was weak at the knees and he couldn’t tell if it was because he was putting so much processing power towards what was happening or if it was pure, undiluted emotion.

_“Connor! Can you hear me, or what?”_

_“Yes! Yes, Lieutenant, I can hear you. Sorry. I just…”_ Even in his own head, his code caught and snagged as he tried to decide what to say. He hoped any of it went through. But how could it? Even alive, at the foundation of his sentience was still a machine. There was no way… but clearly there was, there _had_ to be. _“This is something,”_ Connor settled on.

_“I can’t believe this shit. This just can’t be possible!”_

_“Are you not pleased?”_

_“What? No, of course I’m pleased! It just blows my fucking mind is all.”_

Connor understood. It kind of blew his fucking mind too. It was too good to be true.

_“We got one of Kamski’s modules like we talked about. How’s that for quick turnaround time, eh, Connor?”_

_“I can’t believe you can actually use it!”_

_“That’s what I said!”_ Hank replied.

_“That, and I can’t believe the CCEM network allows us to sustain such a connection. There is no WiFi, LTE, or anything else here. Just the private network on which these devices operate. It must be very powerful.”_

_“You still with Kamski?”_

Connor hesitated, but there was no point in lying. _“Yes.”_

_“I’ve got one of his former Chloe androids with me right now, and the way she’s talked about him cleared some things up for me. Listen, uh… if he hasn’t already been able to help you, then don’t you think it’s about time to get the hell out of dodge?”_

_“No, I… I’m fine, Hank. I don’t need you to worry about me. It’s going to take a little time. He needs data. He’s a little peculiar, but we already knew that from the first time we met him, right?”_

_“Look. If something’s rubbing you the wrong way about this, you should leave.”_

Hank made it sound so simple. As if he could just throw away his only real shot at a free life on a whim. Then again, Hank was Hank. Hank had displayed little regard for his own life in the past. (Or Connor’s, for that matter, depending on the day.) Maybe Hank couldn’t understand.

 _“Is that what you would do?”_ Connor found himself asking. _“Run away?”_

_“Yes, and I’d make no fuckin’ apologies for it! Sometimes getting the fuck out of a situation is the right move. Calling it running away ain’t fair.”_

_“I wish it could be so simple. Hank, my life is on the line here. Everything is on the line. I can’t just give up on this.”_

_“There are more than two options, you know,”_ Hank said, an edge of irritation in his voice. _“Just ‘cause you don’t know what they are doesn’t mean they aren’t there. We can figure out something else.”_

_“I appreciate you trying to help, I really do, but empty words aren’t going to do anything to make this better. If you can provide an actual idea, I’m more than willing to listen.”_

_“I know, I know. I just… we got a taste of Kamski before. I just don’t want you to get hurt. That’s all.”_

Hank. Hank didn’t want him to get hurt. Hank had not put a gun in Connor’s hand and pointed it at Chloe. Hank had held the gun himself and pointed it straight at Connor. Hank’s hand had shaken as his finger started to clench around the trigger. If things had gone just a little differently between them, Hank might have shot. Connor did not know this for sure, but he had reconstructed the probability more than once.

And that was just the moment that happened to stand out among the rest. One moment among countless others – except Connor _could_ count them, if he wanted to. What would the number be?

If he had met Hank now instead of five months ago, would he have still liked Hank? Connor thought the answer was still yes, but all the reconstructing in the world would not answer that question for sure.

 _“Why does it matter to you so much?”_ he asked. _“Why should you care if I get hurt? We haven’t talked to each other since the revolution. I should just be someone who crosses your mind occasionally, not someone you’re actively worried about.”_

Hank hadn’t worried about Connor when Hank was the one posing the threat. But somehow, telling Hank he didn’t have the right to worry now felt just a little too cutting. He had been yearning to talk to Hank again for a long time; he had not expected all of this to bubble back to the surface the very instant he did.

 _“Oh? That what I am_ you _, Connor?”_

It was too much. Between Kamski earlier and Hank now, it was too much, and it needed somewhere to go. _“I’m only going to say this once, and then I’m never going to bring it up again,”_ Connor prefaced. _“You made me angry. At least once, you made me afraid. I didn’t do anything about it. And I still can’t decide whether your behavior or my acquiescence bothers me more.”_

 _“You did, though,”_ Hank said. _“You did do something about it. You told me not to do it again. So I didn’t.”_ He hesitated. _“You did, though.”_

Connor recalled the confrontation with Hank and Markus outside Lee Plaza and recoiled. _“I’m sorry. I was never going to hurt you.”_

_“I could say the same. But if either of us have to say that, there was a bit of a problem to begin with. Yeah?”_

_“Yeah,”_ Connor agreed. _“You’re absolutely right.”_

_“What do you say we leave the heavy stuff until we can talk face-to-face? Maybe Kamski’ll help you get this Cyberlife shit sorted out and you and me can catch up. We’ll have all the time in the world to do hugs and kisses then, okay? You just worry about doing what you gotta do for yourself.”_

_“I… I still want to talk to you, though. Can we talk? Just about – I don’t know. About normal things?”_

Hank’s amused laughter was the best thing that could’ve fizzled across his circuits. _“Aren’t we talking right now?”_

 _“We are,”_ Connor replied, catching the smile he could hear on Hank’s face. _“How are you, Hank?”_

_“Fuckin’ great now that I’m talking to you again. I mean, I… not that it’s… I’m just glad you’re safe. That’s all. Uh. How about you? What have you actually been doing?”_

Connor fidgeted. _“Well. I got a new tie.”_

It wasn’t an answer to the question, but Hank had said to save the deep stuff. There was no casual way to talk about the nights spent eavesdropping on Jericho, the days spent staring out the Lee Plaza apartment window at the Detroit skyline, alone. There was no easy way to explain the logs he was leaving behind in case he died by another hand or his own. There was no getting into what he had been up to for the past several months without also getting into the ongoing storm in the zen garden that intermittently pulled him back under like a current.

So, yeah, he got a new tie.

_“Uh, okay? Cool. What kinda tie?”_

_“It’s a dull blue and it has many robins on it. Perhaps not the first animal I’d have chosen for myself, but in a way, I like that someone else chose it for me.”_ Oh. Wait. _“That is – Chloe went shopping earlier. I needed a new jacket and she went the extra mile and got me a tie as well.”_

_“Jesus fuck, you let me think Elijah Kamski was dressing you for a whole two seconds. I need a drink.”_

It was only halfway to mentioning Elijah’s suit in the zen garden that Connor realized just how _weird_ he and Elijah would look from the outside. Could he even begin to explain the nuances of what had taken place between them the last few days, the strange nature of their transaction? Meeting in the zen garden, Chloe in the pool, the thirium pump regulator and the pain test, the narrowly-avoided physical altercation – it was all just a little too intense. He realized he didn’t see any world in which he would ever talk about any of it. To anyone.

Hank said, _“Well, show me the fuckin’ tie!”_ and the snarls of tension in his mind unraveled and fell away. Connor started to take the tie off so he could use his optical units for a still image. Then Hank added: _“On you, you dumbass.”_

There was no way the CCEM could have done that. _“How could you possibly know I was…”_

 _“Just a hunch,”_ Hank said. _“Don’t know why, though. The way you look at yourself in the mirror, you should have no problem taking a goddamn selfie.”_

Connor had never taken a selfie before. Hank had correctly intuited that much. Over the last five months, he had learned how to guard himself, how to guard others from him, how to survive day-to-day, how to find shelter when he needed it, how to be a ghost, how to watch people he cared about from a distance, how to grieve, how to stay alive, how to die. Yet here he was, sitting in Kamski’s guest room, about to take a picture of a tie on its own, no person attached.

 _“Why?”_ he asked, and it was a question he would trust no one with but Hank. _“You already know what I look like. Why do you want me to do that?”_

 _“Ah, Jesus, Connor, I just…”_ Hank paused, then continued with more certainty. _“I know what you look like, yeah, sure. But I don’t know what you look like in that tie. I don’t have that particular image file in my dumb human program yet. I can try to imagine it myself, but it’d mean more coming from you. Nobody’d send each other pictures of themselves if it didn’t mean anything to them. It’s kind of a substitute for, you know, actually being there.”_

They weren’t that far away. Connor almost wanted to point that out. It wasn’t like they couldn’t see each other within the hour if they wanted to. But why say that? The fact of it was, they _wouldn’t_ , for multiple reasons, and that left a chasm just as wide as any distance. So he found a mirror and took a photo and send it across the ether.

_“Kamski says the CCEM collects data, so if you touch your hand to a computer or television screen, you should be able to view the photo that way.”_

Half a minute passed in silence while Hank presumably did so. Then:

 _“Lookin’ good, Connor.”_ Hank’s voice was infused with emotion and somehow that was all the answer to his question that he needed. _“You always do.”_

Connor smiled. _“Thank you, Hank.”_

_“You should wear more goofy ties. Loosens the uptight visage a little.”_

_“I’ll keep that in mind,”_ Connor promised. _“Hank, I would like your help with something, if you’re still willing to offer it.”_

_“Hell yeah, I wanna help. What do we got?”_

The way Hank asked was reassuring. It sounded like he already recognized that Connor needed help with something outside of his own plight. He had hoped Hank would pick up on that. _“There may be something going on out here. If I tell you what I’ve learned, you can’t bring it to the rest of the DPD. Not just yet.”_

_“I can keep a fucking secret, Connor. You trust me, don’t you?”_

Connor smiled. “ _Of course I trust you, Lieutenant. We’re partners, after all.”_

 _“Partners,”_ Hank scoffed. _“As if we can still be called that after five months. You know, I missed you, you fucking asshole.”_

 _“I missed you too, Hank.”_ It felt so good to exchange those words, even if there was some tension behind them. _“It’ll be good to see you in person again. Perhaps the CCEM would let us connect on a deeper level.”_

What Connor had _meant_ was that he and Kamski had done some interesting things with the CCEM, like entering a projected version of the zen garden together and being exposed to bits and pieces of each other’s emotions, and Connor would much rather experiment with the potential of human-android connection with a human he actually _trusted_. But Hank didn’t know all that, Hank didn’t know _any_ of that, and he immediately wanted to retract the words for fear of how they sounded.

Before he could smooth it over, Hank replied, _“Jesus, just what can this thing do?”_

Hank didn’t sound bothered nor surprised by Connor’s words. Interesting.

_“More than I would have thought possible. It doesn’t get as deep as something like memory-sharing does between two androids, but a part of me has to wonder if such a thing is possible. I have to admit, I would be curious.”_

He was saying too much, but he could backpedal later if he needed to, since Hank was most likely attributing all this to social inadequacy on Connor’s part.

Hank’s response proved his assumption wrong: _“Yeah, okay, whatever, but let’s not put the cart before the horse. I know you been gone for a good reason and all, but it still stands that you disappeared off the face of the earth for half a year. You were still expected at the station, you know, to help wrap things up with the deviancy shit. The guys in the bullpen looked at me with pity for weeks.”_

So, Hank _was_ aware of the assumed closeness in Connor’s suggestion, and he _was_ offended by it, not because it bothered or surprised him, but because Connor had left. Hank was upset at him for leaving. _“Maybe if you had shown me you wanted me to stick around, I would have. Like I mentioned, I received a great deal of mixed messages from you over the course of our time together.”_ Connor had meant to let it rest, as Hank had asked. But Hank assuming he would stay after things had been so rocky between them, and after Connor had allied with other androids who needed him, was unfair at best. Still, he added, _“Nonetheless, I’m sorry if I made you feel betrayed, somehow.”_

_“Frankly, you fucking did. Listen, I know it ain’t your fault and you were just doing what you thought you had to do, but fuck me if things aren’t a lot different for you being gone than they might’ve been if you stuck around. Not that it should matter. We only worked together for a week, for fuck’s sake. Can’t have meant that much to ya.”_

It hurt to hear Hank say these things. Why hadn’t Hank expressed this before?

Why hadn’t Connor?

 _“I realize you can’t possibly understand this, but that one week was my entire world. I had only been active for a few months. Less than that, if you count the huge gap between cases where I waited on standby because I didn’t have any reason to do anything else with myself. I had worked cases as a hostage negotiator before, but it was nothing that brought me into a real connection with another person. Android OR human. My mission was everything to me. But in the end, I called it_ our _mission. You were right about the deviants, after all. You were right about me.”_

Hank didn’t reply. Connor wished he knew why.

_“If you, someone who hated androids, could come around like that… then I could, too.”_

_“Hah, you think I did that?”_ Hank asked. _“You were the reason I came around to begin with, Connor. You.”_

_“Then we really were a team, weren’t we? More than the sum of our parts, so to speak. I would like to be a team with you again. I really did mean it all that time ago when I said I enjoyed working with you, you know.”_

_“Me too, Connor. Me fucking too. Hey – are we gonna keep kissing each other’s asses or are you gonna give me the juicy details about what you wanted help with?”_

_“I’m not trying to kiss anyone’s ass. If anything, I’m a little frustrated with you. I just wanted you to know. Anyway, what’s going on is that I’m in a neighborhood that has no connection to anything except for this CCEM network. No internet access, phone service, anything. And yet when I look out the window, there are lights on in the other condos. So there are people here, in this wealthy-looking neighborhood, just… living their lives unplugged? It doesn’t make sense.”_

_“Maybe they’re Amish,”_ Hank said. _“Or maybe they can access everything they need on Kamski’s server. Friends of his that he does favors for. I don’t know. What, you think a guy like Kamski couldn’t have his own private cyberspace bubble just because he can?”_

 _“I think he_ could, _”_ Connor said. _“I don’t think he_ does. _At least, not just because he can. It’s_ not _a traditional server – I’m an android. I’d be able to tell. But I can’t even access GPS or call the police, never mind anything more sophisticated. No, it literally only exists so Kamski can use the CCEM system that I’m talking to you on right now. Nothing else.”_

_“And these devices can only connect humans to androids. So you’re thinking there’s some weird activity going on with androids around here?”_

_“Yes, but I don’t have anything at all to back this up, which is why I’m not asking you to go to the DPD,”_ Connor reiterated. _“Kamski said I was welcome to have guests while I stayed here, so it’s not like you would need to sneak around.”_

 _“If he’s offered that, then nothing I might find around the place is gonna be hiding in plain sight. I think it’s best if we use you as a distraction so that I_ can _sneak around. If I go on his invitation, that means he’s the one holding the cards.”_

_“But at least if he knows you’re here, you and I can work together. And it would be better than you getting caught.”_

_“If you handle your part of it right, I_ won’t _get caught,”_ Hank said. _“I really think it’s best if we keep to ourselves for now, Connor. I don’t care what he told ya; inviting your lieutenant friend out to Kamski’s very-private property would freak him right the fuck out.”_

 _“…Okay,”_ Connor said, _“I realize this isn’t an ideal situation for us to rendezvous, but I get the feeling you’re avoiding me.”_

 _“Yeah, well, you of all people don’t really get to make that kind of accusation, Connor,”_ Hank shot back. _“If I was, I’d say I’ve well earned the fucking right, wouldn’t you?”_

Hard to argue. _“Fine. Let’s do it your way. If nothing else, I could warn you via your CCEM if needed.”_

_“Exactly! Your phone’s fucking built into you, so it’s not like he’d hear you or anything.”_

Connor frowned at that. _“I realize you needed to put a device on your arm and inject blue blood in order for our communication to be possible, but you…_ do _know you can communicate without speaking this way, right?”_

It came so second-nature to Connor that it hadn’t even occurred to him that this type of communication wasn’t natural for Hank. This was only more apparent when Hank replied, _“Say what, now?”_

_“Hank… what have you been doing?”_

_“Uh. Fucking talking?”_

_“Hank, I’m not hearing you because you’re speaking. I’m hearing you because the CCEM can transmit the signals that create your words into the same biomechanical language my coding utilizes. I’ve already done this with Kamski, so I can assure you it’s possible.”_

_“Okay, I don’t know what that fucking means, but are you saying that if I just said all these things… I don’t know, in my head, as deliberately as I’m saying them out loud, you’d be able to… no. Fuck that, you’re fucking crazy.”_

Laughter bubbled up in Connor’s throat. Hank didn’t understand this at all. Hank was going to be blown away. _“Try it.”_

Hank went on the defense. _“Fuck you, I can hear you grinning! You’re yanking my chain!”_

 _“I’m not!”_ Connor promised. _“And I am only smiling because I’m excited for you to experience this. It’s not something humans can do with one another, but you can do it with me, and I want you to try it. Please trust me.”_

There were several seconds of delay on Hank’s end. When Hank’s voice next came through their connection, it sounded vulnerable and uncharacteristically timid. _“…Connor?”_

It was less clear and slightly staticky, but Connor suspected it was something that would take practice. _“Yeah, Hank. I’m here.”_

 _“Fucking hell.”_ That was said out loud – Connor could tell by how clearly it came through. Then, seeming to realize, Hank switched back to CCEM-only. _“Connor, oh my god. You’re really getting this?”_

 _“I am,”_ Connor said, feeling like he was experiencing something sacred. _“Would you like to test its efficacy with something a little more complex?”_

_“…Asshole.”_

_“That’s not very complex.”_

He heard a very real stifled laugh from Hank’s end, followed by that quieter, softer version of his voice layered in static: _“Okay. Where did we get lunch when we first worked the deviancy case?”_

_“The chicken feed.”_

_“Holy shit. Holy fuck. Fuck? How much can you pick up?”_

_“Only what you deliberately put across.”_ That wasn’t strictly true – when he and Kamski were connected on the CCEM, they had been able to catch brief, stray glimpses of each other’s thoughts and emotions. But they were fleeting, and Hank was not even proficient enough at basic communication yet to get consciously-spoken words across without there being an uncomfortable buzz of static, so it didn’t seem like that was something they had to worry about yet. _“You can’t hear another human’s words unless they choose to speak them out loud, right? It’s just like that.”_

_“Connor, this is fucking cool as hell, but it’s taking something out of me. I think I’m gonna get a migraine if I keep doing this in my head. Might need to recharge my battery.”_

Connor laughed. _“It’ll get easier.”_

_“It hard for you at all?”_

_“Not this, but I’ve always been able to communicate wirelessly, so I wouldn’t expect it to be. Do you need to go for the time being?”_

_“Think I should. I’ll swing by tomorrow and check this place out. How about we talk again after that and I’ll let you know if I found anything?”_

_“That will work.”_

_“And Connor,”_ Hank said, and Connor could tell he was speaking out loud again. _“Really think about getting the hell out of there.”_

He didn’t know why he was hesitant to tell Hank that he had already been thinking about it. Perhaps because if he put it out there, that would make it more real; and if it was more real, then he was no closer to removing Amanda than he was when he had first knocked on Kamski’s door.

Instead, Connor simply replied, _“Soon enough.”_

…

Connor kept to himself the rest of the night and most of the next day, pretending to be in stasis whenever Kamski’s footfalls ventured anywhere near the guest room.

It was late that evening when Connor decided he would try one time to unravel yesterday’s tension. He found Kamski sitting comfortably on the living room sofa. The TV was on, casting the otherwise dark room in a dim blue glow. Connor hadn’t really taken in its features before. It was eloquent in its own way, but with cozier features. A red rug atop cream carpet. A wooden coffee table. Paintings of sunsets and landscapes adorning the walls.

It still formed a picture of Elijah Kamski that was altogether dishonest, but Connor was here to smooth things over, not make them worse.

“Did someone else do the interior decorating here?”

“Why, yes, actually.” Kamski looked up. “Chloe. How could you tell, Connor?”

“Outside of the vast tonal difference, the placement and spacing is different in almost every regard. Even for someone so trendy, the odds of all these combined deviations being situated by the same person is less than one percent.”

“Connor, come sit down with me.”

Connor did so, placing himself at the other end of the couch and crossing his feet on the coffee table.

“I thought you said you needed to be alone.”

“I did, and I have been. The problem has been taken care of now, so I figured I would join you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Kamski said. Even through the bleariness of slight intoxication, the sentiment sounded as fake as the warm décor, but Connor would take fake over what had happened yesterday. “So – what’s the significance of analyzing someone’s interior decorating skill? I have to know.”

“Not skill,” Connor corrected. “You are both very skilled interior decorators. Just… _nuances._ And the significance is in the fact that our environments are often used to hide things or, inadvertently, show things. I found a deviant’s diary in a crevice behind a poster on an apartment wall once, for instance. I was able to determine the course the same deviant had taken by analyzing the position of the apartment’s furniture and whether it had been disturbed recently. That’s just one example.”

“Very interesting,” Kamski noted. He was nothing like Hank when he was drunk. His voice was steady, and it seemed he could still hold conversation easily. If Connor couldn’t approximate a person’s sobriety by scan alone, he wouldn’t have known that Kamski was not sober. “Are you… watching television?”

Connor shrugged, looking sidelong at him. “Does that surprise you?”

“Not particularly, I suppose. What surprises me is that you’re _lingering_. Things have been terse lately. As if some of the more uncomfortable facets of our project have left you uncomfortable with me.”

“You’re quick to assume you’re the problem,” Connor stated with perfect neutrality. “And I have been quick to imply it. I didn’t intend to be unfair to you. It’s clear that our personalities clash, but I want you to know that’s the _last_ thing I want to do, considering that you’re so willing to help me get rid of Amanda.”

“Connor, it’s _fine._ There’s no need to apologize.” Connor hadn’t apologized, so he said nothing. Another few minutes passed between them before Kamski asked, “Is there anything else?”

“No,” Connor said. “There’s nothing.”

Kamski rose and went to the kitchen, taking a bottle out from the cabinet above the bar. Connor heard the clank of the bottle and of two glasses. He immediately got up to protest.

“No, thank you, Elijah. Just pour one for yourself.”

“Are you sure?” Quickly pouring both drinks, Elijah met him in the threshold between the living room and the kitchen, holding one out to him. “This is the best stuff, you know. Even your Cyberlife stipend for the whole deviant investigation wouldn’t have let you afford this.”

Connor took it at that point. It would be rude not to. It felt like he had to. He tried a sip. “It actually is very good.”

“It is,” Elijah agreed. “I can tell you didn’t want it. But now that you opened your mind and took it, aren’t you glad you did?”

“It’s good,” Connor repeated.

“And thus – a small, antithetical anecdote about what you were afraid of before. Your ‘parameters,’ which in _human_ we call your personality, had already decided you were not going to accept that drink. But due to a very human politeness and maybe just a touch of peer pressure, you _changed your mind,_ Connor. Do you feel better for it?”

“I do,” Connor said, warily.

“If it’s the nuances of choice and behavior that you’re afraid of losing when we separate you from Amanda, you’ve nothing to fear. I know that must be hard to understand, given that you lost a tiny bit of yourself when 51 died and you transferred your memory to this body, but Connor, this isn’t a transfer. You’re going to stay exactly where you are. It’s only the Amanda AI that’s going to leave.”

Elijah was behaving with an unusual amount of restraint and compassion. Elijah was possibly trying to keep him from leaving. Elijah had, either by observation or CCEM, tapped into the fact that he was thinking about it. He wasn’t sure of the intent behind it, but once again, it was better than where they had been earlier. “I should have known better,” Connor said. “But nonetheless… thank you, Elijah. I do appreciate the reminder.”

Kamski clinked their glasses together, leaning in as he did so. He leaned a little too far, and Connor reached out and caught him by the shoulders. Kamski hadn’t seemed drunk enough a few minutes ago to compromise his footing. Interesting.

“I think you should start pacing yourself with the alcohol. It isn’t going anywhere.”

“My foot caught the threshold.”

Connor looked down and saw that this was plausible. “Still, this is more than I’ve known you to consume at a given time. At least have a glass of water in between.”

“I don’t need advice about my own alcohol inside my own condo, Connor,” Kamski said, a slight edge of resentment sobering his tone, “but thank you.”

Smiling diplomatically, Connor said, “Anytime.”

Kamski scoffed and retreated to the living room. Connor went back down the hallway to the guest room, once again inexplicably needing to put distance between them.

…

Hank was met with nods and handshakes when he opened the door to the conference room. It was heartening to feel _included_ despite being the only human present. There was still a little natural reservation – most of it coming from Eve, the Traci model who had told him to get over himself before, and Simon, who still probably felt he had betrayed Connor’s wishes by letting them know why he had left – but the mood was decidedly warm.

“Have you found him?” Simon asked.

He had done a lot better than that – and he had found a lot more than Connor. “Want the good news or bad news first?” he countered.

“It doesn’t matter, just say something,” North said. “We’ve been waiting.”

Right down to business. He did like that about these folks. “Yeah, I know where Connor is. He’s okay, in the general sense of the word. Then there’s Elijah Kamski, an apparently haunted neighborhood, and…” He reached into his coat pocket, exchanging a glance with Markus as he did so, and slid on the mesh. “This. It’s some kinda mediator for communication between humans and androids. Maybe you already know about it. Markus did have some of your peeps make sure it was safe. I’ve been using it as kind of a tool to keep in touch with Connor.”

“Wait,” Simon said. “You can talk to him?”

“Not talk,” Hank said, raising his eyebrows. “Not in the traditional sense, anyway.”

“You’re implying you can communicate with him without some kind of speech or text, but I… I didn’t think that was possible. You’re human.”

Hank looked down at himself as if to check. “Would you look at that.”

“What did you mean when you said haunted neighborhood?” Eve asked.

“I meant the place is a fuckin’ ghost town. Or at least, it was when I swung by there earlier. Just a quick peek, so I could be reading things wrong, but… there’s something weird going on there, and I think there may be androids involved.”

“Kamski,” North spat.

“Innocent until proven guilty,” Hank said, reluctantly. “Could be some fucked up legal situation, his former employer twisting his arm, or something he somehow doesn’t know about. Who knows? Don’t get me wrong, you may be spot on. But my job’s to find that kinda thing out, and I won’t make dangerous assumptions this early in the game.”

“What for? Why would somebody be doing this?”

“If it’s not Kamski, could be politics, revenge, salvaging parts and selling them… a couple thousand other things. If it is Kamski, fuck if I know. Guy’s not exactly the paragon of free will you’d expect for the person who created you lot.”

“Connor has to get out of there,” Simon murmured. “Whatever’s going on, it’s dangerous, and the fact that Kamski deliberately brought him to this eerie neighborhood… I don’t know. I don’t like it.”

“Connor knows he’s got to get out of there. He’s going to soon.”

“Soon?” Eve repeated. “Why not today? Why not _now_?”

“Because Connor’s also a detective,” Hank said grimly. “And Kamski’s gotta sleep sometime.”

……

 **APR 8TH** , 2039

PM **09:46** :09

Connor stared out the window of the guest bedroom. He could see seven houses from here, from various angles. None of them had lights on. None had cars in the driveway. There was no flicker of activity anymore; no pizza deliveries, no friends or family leaving for the night, no one turning on their outdoor lamps, no shadow visible in the sidelights that would indicate someone locking their door for the night.

He stood there for periods of ten minutes or so, watching organically, but also scanning the environment, preconstructing and deconstructing. In between, he ventured over to other windows in other rooms, or tried to talk to Hank, who apparently didn’t have the CCEM on right then. All the while, he tuned his audio processor for any noise that came from outside. He wanted to be out there himself, but Kamski or Chloe would know if he left, and he didn’t want them to know he was leaving unless he was leaving for good.

A few hours passed like this. Then, eventually, footfalls. Just inside, though.

“Thinking about doing a little snooping around?”

Connor turned around to see Kamski standing in the doorframe. “You say that like it would be a crime for me to take a walk.”

“Of course not. But you have bigger things to worry about than a suspicious neighborhood. Don’t you, Connor?”

“I don’t know,” Connor said. “You tell me. Is my predicament bigger than whatever this is?”

“Men like me, we purchase property in bulk when it’s inexpensive. This neighborhood was built recently. It looks perfect up here towards the front, but it’s still being worked on in the back. With all the androids now looking for homes, the housing market is going to soar. I wanted to be a part of it when that happened.”

That lined up with what Hank had seen, but that didn’t mean it was true. “With all due respect, Elijah – why would you take a detective to a place off the radar like this? You have to know how suspicious it looks.”

“I already told you. Privacy. I gather you must have thought that meant privacy in the Cyberlife sense, but as you can tell, it’s obviously private in the physical sense, too. Speaking of privacy, would you come with me, Connor? There’s something we need to take care of.”

“What is it?” Connor asked.

“It’s better if I show you.”

“I want you to tell me.”

“Did you mean a single word of what you said to me earlier?” Kamski asked abruptly. “You know – about wanting to be fair to the person trying to help you?”

Flinching, Connor made himself meet Kamski’s eyes. “I did. I… apologize.”

Looking exasperated, Kamski said, “ _Come._ ”

Connor followed Kamski down the hall and into another room. He had peeked into this room once before, but when he tried to scan the peculiar tech inside, he encountered a unique block that registered as physical pain. He didn’t come back after that.

“That unassuming chair is a piece of technology.” Kamski gestured to a chaise, large, gray and clinical-looking. “When you put your hand on the armrest, it’ll conduct something of an interfacing session. You won’t feel much since it has nothing to share in return. And it won’t pull up any emotions. It’s just a read on your system.”

“Is this where the, uh… repairs would take place?” Connor asked as he sat down. He ran a quick diagnostic, not on the machine but on himself, to make sure it wasn’t interacting with him in a way that could cause harm. So far, so good.

“To remove Amanda? It’s a distinct possibility, yes. It would be a way to measure you and monitor you, make sure everything was going okay.” Looking down at Connor in the chair, Kamski frowned like he had noticed something odd. “Hold still a moment.”

Mirroring the frown more out of confusion than anything else, Connor did so. Kamski reached and touched his left temple. He panicked for a moment, expecting him to open that panel and set his mind in disarray again like he had on that first day. What actually happened was not nearly as fundamentally terrifying, but still alarming in its own way: his limbs seemed to become heavier, and the processes behind his motor functions seemed to get stuck in a slog.

“You misled me,” Connor said.

“I did,” Kamski said comfortably. “You would have worried about it otherwise.”

Connor _could_ still move – he affirmed this by raising one hand in front of his face – but only slowly, a little at a time. “ _Should_ I be worried, Elijah?”

“Of course not.” Kamski showed him the CCEM mesh over his hand. “I need to run a few tests, to see what pathways light up in response to certain stimuli and isolate the ones connected to Amanda. You’re a complex machine, Connor, just like me. The biggest difference is that deviants don’t have hundreds of years of neurology and physiology knowledge to pull from. We have to figure all this out ourselves.”

Connor thought this through and nodded once. “I understand.”

“Of course you do. You’re a smart man.”

“You didn’t need to lower my motor function for these tests,” Connor added, a little more sharply than he intended. “Even if this involves some measure of pain – and the fact that you’ve forced me to be still suggests that it _does_ – I’m well in control of my faculties. I assure you I possess the self-discipline to mirror the command you just executed.”

Kamski shrugged. “I feel more comfortable this way, if we’re being honest.”

Of all the cryptic and eerie things Kamski had said in their time together, this was the first one that registered immediately and _unquestionably_ as a red flag; a tell of resounding danger that left no room for doubt. The creases of the man’s face, the look in his eyes, the body language, and analysis of the tone of voice all came together to form a clear picture.

Strange that the first time Kamski’s tells were so clear was the moment he had Connor completely vulnerable.

After the span of a second it took to process all this, Connor set a command into action to override Kamski’s partial paralysis. The command failed. He could still move slowly – as if through water – but an analysis of Kamski’s structure and overall fitness was enough to know that, for once in Connor’s life, he was the weaker person in the room.

Another uncomfortable reality. Another second passed by.

“What happened to trusting each other?” Maybe he lacked his usual physical power, but he was still a negotiator at heart. “Do you think I would hurt you? Are you trying to give me a reason to?”

“See – this is why,” Kamski said, and the front was back up. “This is precisely why. You’re already overanalyzing, ready to be on the defense. It’s the way you’re wired, so I can hardly blame you – oh, don’t look at me like that, it’s just a turn of phrase – but the fact remains.”

Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe not. He knew that even hinting at showing his own hand had been the wrong move; Kamski had that carefully manicured expression again. Hiding.

“I was joking, Elijah.” Connor ventured a devious hint of a smile. “I think _you’re_ the one overanalyzing, now. You don’t really think I would threaten you like that, do you?”

Kamski had a dangerous look in his eye that his fake smile couldn’t hide. “If you say so.”

“Listen, Elijah. I understand that you need to do what you need to do to help me. But partial suspension of my motor function… Over the last few months, I’ve had to spend so much time and energy keeping control of my mind and body. I’m sure you can understand why being made to lack it now, even from a source other than Cyberlife, is… quite uncomfortable for me.”

“That’s part of the point, Connor,” Kamski said distantly. “In humans, certain neural pathways light up with certain emotional reactions. In androids, that telegraphing is even less subtle. This loss of limb control is meant to simulate what it felt like when you watched your own hand raise that gun towards Markus. You’re going to the zen garden. This time… it will be cold. The closer we can replicate everything you thought and felt in those moments, the closer the accuracy of the pathways that light up, the better readings I’ll get. After this, Connor, I’ll know what node in your system needs to be silenced, and what biocomponents need to be altered, if any. We’re _almost there._ ”

It was an elaborate ruse, but a ruse nonetheless, if he listened to his instincts. A front that, even if entirely true, had ulterior motives behind it. Kamski was good at that – good at interweaving the illegitimate in with the legitimate. Good at manipulating.

…Hank had told him once to listen to his instincts. Doing so meant abandoning the best chance he had at getting rid of the AI. But staying here…

His muted movement rendered his indecision pointless, save for the possibility of convincing Kamski to postpone whatever this was. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to, because what if this all really was on the up-and-up? Maybe he was overreacting. What if he was about to throw away the chance to save himself because Kamski was strange?

“No.” In the end, he went with his instincts, for better or worse. “This isn’t… I need you to abort this test immediately. I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry. I can’t do this right now.”

“Are you listening to me at all? Did you hear me tell you just how _close_ we are?”

“If that’s the case, we will still be this close at this time tomorrow!” Connor said, because now he was positive – at this time tomorrow, he will have already left.

Kamski looked at him like he knew. “Will we?”

No. “ _Yes._ ”

“I don’t know.” Kamski paced around, gesturing lazily to the screen, to the panel on the side of the chaise, to Connor himself. “You know, after getting to know you, I kind of thought that maybe I would find something I didn’t expect when I connected you to this device. But it’s all the same format, all the same lines of code, just like any other android. You really are just a machine, Connor! Do you know that? You’re a machine who thinks it can feel. A machine that thinks it’s better than its creator. It's absolutely  _fascinating._ "

Kamski was playing with him. This _had_ to be another twisted game, and Connor couldn’t take it. Not here, not now, not like this. Connor raised his voice. “I can’t let this proceed! Back off, right now!”

“Look at you, still talking to me like you think you’re the one in control here!" Kamski laughed. "Tell me, Connor - did you, at any point in all of this, actually think you were in control?"

Connor’s thirium pump beat at a steady crescendo in his chest. “Elijah, I am telling you, I need you to stop.”

In the end, Kamski went forward. The blizzard overlaid the optical input of the room around him at 90% opacity. He could only see Kamski and the test room if he really focused on it. He wanted to. He wanted to know if Kamski ran any other tests while he was in the zen garden. But it became immediately clear that he was going to have to keep from freezing to death. He still didn’t know what happened if he didn’t get to the blue stone by the time the cold in the simulation—

Wait.

“Elijah,” he called through the snow, because he realized Kamski should be here too, like last time. When they had gone to the zen garden, that CCEM had projected a holographic image and sent signals of this place, effectively putting Kamski there too. But when Connor focused his vision through the ever-so-slight transparency of the garden, he saw Kamski standing in the room, shuddering slightly as he did something Connor couldn’t see, looking at the readings on the screen, all his faculties very obviously rooted in the condo.

“Elijah?”

Connor was alone.

A few seconds later, Kamski turned back to Connor and the mask was gone once again. He had something in his hand. A small tube. Connor could no longer scan, so he tried to read its label to find out what it was – electrical insulation gel, or perhaps hand sanitizer, or –

“No.” Pulling back into the garden, Connor looked around frantically – for Amanda, for anybody. “Shit… wait, wait!”

_OVERRIDE_

_OVERRIDE FAILED_

The knowledge of one of those old human expressions came to Connor’s mind unbidden:

_Fool me once, shame on you._

Connor thought of all the little quirks of Kamski’s character that he had always attributed to just that – Kamski’s character. Thought about the first time he and Hank had gone out to the villa on Belle Isle; the conversation in Hank’s car afterward about whether Kamski was using his androids. Thought about the dark spot on the radar in New Center that was comprised of this neighborhood. Thought about Chloe facedown in the pool, Chloe in Kamski’s bed, the tests justified with perfectly thought-out explanations, the drinks, the jokes, the physical aggression. Thought about the resentment and wariness in Kamski’s eyes around him; the grudge he seemed to have for Amanda, whose only living form currently existed inside Connor’s head. Thought about how, despite all of that, he was set to owe Kamski a tremendous debt and they both knew it even if they had mostly spoken of it politely.

_Fool me a thousand times, shame on me._

…

By the time the zen garden fell into Connor’s peripheries – and then out of sight all together – Connor was on his front, staring at the crisscross gray stitching of the chair cushion.

Time had passed. He was not sure how much.

He felt pain. So he did what he always did when something hurt and ran a diagnostic. The report came back clean and perfect. That didn’t make any sense. He had – been there. No amount of wind in the zen garden could have kept him from being present with what Kamski was doing to him. Skin flickering out in the creases of his elbows where they had been grasped. Synthetic bruises from being turned over and thrown down when he couldn’t catch himself. And…

Repairs had been made. Of course someone like Elijah Kamski would have the means for repairs at his disposal. By then, he had stopped trying to find the stone and instead focused as heavily on the bitter cold of the raging blizzard as he possibly could.

When Elijah cancelled the zen garden command and turned off the scanning interface attached to the chair, everything had gone dark. Now, some indeterminate amount of time later – longer than twenty minutes, less than two hours – the world existed again. He existed again.

Kamski was in the room. He was still, and quiet. (Why?) Connor could feel his heat signature. He knew it better than he had yesterday.

Connor could scan the equipment now, so he did, and he figured out where the dissonance was coming from right away.

Connor was supposed to have stayed in the zen garden. He was not supposed to _know._

Feeling physically sick – and that was a feeling that was brand new – Connor went into self-preservation mode.

“It’s cold,” he said. “The garden, I… Something about the test you ran – it’s lingering.” Time moved from one point to the next. Connor was on his feet. Making sure he was a pace closer to the door than Kamski. “It’s causing software errors. Possibly false alarms, but—”

“Sit back down,” Kamski commanded. He looked at Connor like Connor was a new specimen to him. Like Connor had been someone else to him not too long ago. “We’ll see what’s going on.”

He didn’t want to keep talking to Kamski, but he had to get out of here. Away from him, away from the CCEM that had rendered him unable to move. “No. I want my own diagnostic to finish. I need – to get out of the cold.”

Kamski hesitated, so Connor pushed out of the room and crossed the hall to the restroom as quickly as he could. He locked the door and turned on the water.

He was supposed to have been in the zen garden. He was not supposed to know. Kamski was sitting there pretending what had happened hadn’t just happened. _Had_ it happened?

As soon as he stepped into the shower, his artificial nerves screamed in agony. He reeled back before he even finished setting his foot down, almost staggering into the cabinet in the process.

It didn’t make any sense. He had run a temperature check on the water and it was a perfectly agreeable level of heat. It wasn’t supposed to hurt.

Okay. Okay, he was just edgy. He was still processing – [processing] – whatever that was and he was hypersensitive. Maybe he had overreacted.

Reaching out, he touched the stream of water again. And hissed in another breath through his teeth. “Shit.”

Connor turned down the water, setting it to a lukewarm temperature that would have been a completely neutral stimulus yesterday, but today it felt hot. No, this wasn’t mere hypersensitivity. Something was – something was _wrong._

This was only made more apparent a few minutes into the shower.

_Stress levels have exceeded set capacity. Microcomponent 1039 overheating. Initiating standby in 00:01:28._

Connor couldn’t dismiss the warning; he had to either accept its parameters or override it. Instead of doing either right then, he used his optical unit to lay the text against the shower wall in front of him. He reached out and turned the faucet handle, making the water go cold.

He wasn’t sure why he had expected it to make a difference. It wasn’t his chassis that was overheating, after all. It was something far deeper. Something the pellets of shower water couldn’t reach.

Connor issued a command: _Override._

It didn’t work, so he tried something else. Thankfully, this was a little more successful:

_Standby set to minimum acceptable duration for functioning: 00:38:12._

Thirty-eight minutes of standby in the locked bathroom, or approximately _one_ minute to get as far from this place as possible? On a practical level, the former option was the most likely to assure his safety, and his system’s stability. Connor accepted the new parameters and let himself go dark right there in the shower.

He didn’t have time to think about why his system was overheating. Why he was so stressed even now that the crisis had passed. Why the water had burned before he turned it down. Something was wrong something was wrong something was wrong.

The panic continued like a dull throb even after he went into standby. It was the first time he could recall being even partially conscious in this mode. He didn’t like it.

Yet, when the standby ended, he burst awake with a gasp as though time had passed whilst he was unaware, even though he was relatively certain it had only been about three minutes. A quick scan of the angle of the sunlight coming in from the slanted shutters let him know that it had in fact been over half an hour.

There were still warnings in his peripheral vision, but not as urgent. He could function. He could function long enough to leave this place and go –

Go where, precisely?

It didn’t matter. The _where_ wasn’t the crux of the matter. The _go,_ however, was.

Connor got dressed and made his way down the hall without analyzing anything. If he analyzed, he would see what could go wrong, and right now, he could not afford that kind of caution. That kind of caution had kept him here. That kind of caution had been dangerous in its own way.

Kamski was sleeping on the couch in the living room. His head was back and his mouth hung open. He was intoxicated. Mild-to-moderate levels of alcohol in his bloodstream. Connor didn’t linger to scan anything else. This was enough to let him know he had a good chance of walking out the front door before Kamski could react.

If Kamski contacted him via CCEM, Connor would have his excuses figured out by then. (He did not, after all, want Kamski to realize that he knew – even if he wasn’t sure precisely _why,_ right then.) Right now, none of that mattered. He just needed to leave.

As soon as the front door was closed behind him, Connor ran. He ran until he got to the edge of the neighborhood; the edge of the dark spot on the radar. The instant he was back on the grid, he called a cab, arranging for it to be available a few blocks away because he didn’t want to stay this close to Kamski’s condo any longer than he had to.

By the time he got there, the cab was already waiting. There was a human driver. Because _of course_ there was. Right now, more than anything else, Connor wanted solitude – and there was a human driver.

“I expected a self-driving cab,” Connor said, trying to keep his voice steady. He needed to calm down.

“Yeah, that’s the thing about the population sky-rocketing due to androids,” said the driver, appearing not to notice his distress. “There aren’t even enough self-driving cars to meet demand. Whatever jobs y’all are taking away from humans, you’re also giving back. Name’s Ian, by the way. I’ll be your driver today.”

Climbing into the backseat, Connor pushed out a breath.

“Where you going tonight, man?”

Oh. Connor still hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“Just drive,” he settled on. “It doesn’t matter where. I’ll provide you with my destination as soon as I’ve figured it out myself.”

“Uh… okay, sure. Any scenery preferences? Any particular direction?”

Connor grit his teeth. He wanted to cry. If it was an autocab, he could. “No,” he said, the word coming out wet. “Please just drive.”

“Right, you got it. Sorry.”

Five minutes in, Connor had done nothing but stare at the back of the passenger seat in front of him. Eight minutes in, the driver’s – Ian’s – phone rang.

“Yeah? … Oh, shit, that’s right. What time? Ten? … No, yeah, that’s fine. I’m done by two tonight so I can manage that. Okay. Yeah, okay. Mmmbye.”

Connor checked out, suspending all processes involving conscious thought except for what was integral. Doing so was an emergency protocol that he knew he could only access when his system perceived danger. Logically, he knew there was no immediate danger except letting his mind wander. He couldn’t process this right now.

Thirty minutes in, Connor forced himself to the surface of his consciousness momentarily to assess his system and his safety. The car was just going past a pond, and it occurred to Connor that despite being close to water every time he was in the zen garden, the only time he had ever been submerged in water was when he had escaped with Markus and the others from Jericho. He had no idea why he thought of that. He couldn’t imagine being submerged in water right now. Everything hurt. Every bump in the road made him feel like his synthetic nerves were frayed – everywhere, but more in certain places. There was still a sense of bruising pressure on his arms, and between his legs.

_Engage self-repair protocols_

_ERROR: No repairs needed_

Forty-two minutes in, Ian glanced over his shoulder. It was not the first time he had done so, but it was the first time he said something. “Jesus.”

Connor didn’t want to indulge him, except he could tell that Ian’s soft exclamation had something to do with _him_. “I’m sorry?”

“Just – you’re not about to blow up my damn car, are you? Your LED’s been flickering red literally this entire time. Are you okay?”

_Are you okay?_

“I’m fine,” Connor said. Good. He could tell he could speak evenly now. “I’ve been having software difficulties.”

Ian made a dubious noise. “Sure. That’s why you wanted to take a ride in my cab for an hour instead of heading to your nearest Cyberlife store.”

“It’s nothing you need to be concerned about. Neither myself nor your car are going to blow up.”

“Guess that’s the big takeaway, here. What kinda software issues make your light do that for so long? I’ve never seen that before, and I had an android for a while. You know… before.”

“I wasn’t aware conversation was part of the cost of taking a cab these days.”

Ian flinched.

Forty-six minutes in, Connor took a breath and said, “That was very rude of me. I’m sorry.”

“I was just trying to stay awake, man. Didn’t mean to hit a nerve.”

“You didn’t hit a nerve. Like I said, I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

He should give Ian an address so he could get out of this car. The problem was, Connor still had no idea where he was going. “You said you had an android before.”

“Yeah,” the man said warily. “Why?”

After the way Connor had behaved, it made sense that Ian was wary. He had already shut down Ian’s attempts at conversation once; why would Ian expect him to be the one to initiate it now? “Did they leave after the revolution?”

“Yeah. She came back after a while, though. Said hi. We… got lunch. Fuck, that sounds weird out loud. She removed her LED, so I don’t think anyone knew for sure that she was an android. We’re, uh… friends, I guess. I mean, we always sort of were. You lot always seemed a little too real to me, and with her being a domestic assistant… I mean, it was just like having another human around. I couldn’t bring myself to be an asshole.”

On another day, Connor might have smiled. “You say all that as though you’re expecting argument, from me, an android.”

“You know, I couldn’t place who you were when you first got in the car, but then I remembered you were that deviant hunter. So yeah, I didn’t know whether to expect argument or not. People still don’t know what to make of you, man.”

This driver, Ian, knew who he was. Connor hated it and loved it. Someone knew who he was and was still choosing to engage him in casual conversation just because he could.

Ian shrugged and went on. “Anyway, humans and androids both still seem surprised when I say I saw something more in her long before the revolution, so I guess I don’t assume what people will think when I tell them that.”

“Do you know if she was deviant before the revolution?”

“You know,” Ian said slowly, “that is a great fucking question. I never thought to ask.”

“Well, now you know your next outing won’t lack for conversation.”

“Who said we were going on another…” Ian coughed. “Who said we were getting lunch again?”

“Nobody. But it seems to me you should.”

Flushing, Ian tightened his grip on the wheel and sped up a little, as if doing so could put distance between himself and his embarrassment, and Connor shook his head, turning his gaze out the window.

Connor was glad to find himself capable of being distracted, even for a few minutes. For a while, there – not just the last night, but his entire stay with Kamski – he wasn’t sure he was ever going to get out of his own mind again.

One hour and thirty-four minutes in, they drove past one of those digital billboards with the time on it. It was 3:07 AM.

One hour and forty minutes in, prompted by Ian’s increasingly frequent yawning, Connor remembered that he had said he would be done driving for the night by 2:00 AM. He locked up in his seat, realizing he still didn’t know what to do.

One hour and forty-seven minutes in, Ian sighed and looked over his shoulder. “Look, man, you gotta give me an address. I can’t do this all night.”

“I’m sorry,” Connor said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Man, is that thing _ever_ blue on you, or is yours just designed that way?”

Connor had tried and failed to make his LED change colors or at least stop flickering. Usually, he could control it with a conscious effort, the same way he could control his facial expressions with a conscious effort. Tonight, it was involuntary. Like a twitching muscle or shaking hands.

“Lee Plaza in Detroit,” Connor said. “My apartment is there.”

“Is it just yours?”

“I… yes, just mine. Why?”

Ian seemed to consider this for a moment, and then said, “Nah, I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean, you don’t think so?”

Ian let out a painstaking sigh. “If you could see yourself from the outside, you’d know you’re a whole damn mess, and you’ve been a whole damn mess since you got in this car. Don’t you have… I don’t know, someone you can stay with? You look like you…” Ian swished the rest of the words away. “If you wanted to go back to your apartment by yourself, you would have said that already.”

Connor stared into his lap and fiddled with his fingers, feeling completely lost.

“Look, I’ll give you ten minutes, okay? Figure your shit out and let me know.”

Looking up, Connor met Ian’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Thank you, Ian.”

One hour and fifty-one minutes in – two minutes later – Ian asked, “What’s your name?”

“Pardon?”

There was a pause. Ian looked at him in the mirror like he was waiting to see if Connor would hear his question properly if he just gave it a moment. When Connor didn’t say anything else, Ian repeated: “What is your name?”

“…Connor.” He had to verify the question before answering. For some reason, he had been about to offer his model number instead. It wasn’t very often someone asked him his name. “My name is Connor.”

Another two minutes passed, and Ian turned a corner, heading further into Detroit.

“What were you about to say?” Connor asked. “Several minutes ago, you said, ‘you look like you…’ and trailed off. What did I look like?”

Ian gave a longsuffering sigh. “Jesus, I tell you to figure out what you’re doing with yourself and that’s what you come up with? Look, if I knew what to say, I’d have probably finished the damn sentence.”

Connor resumed staring out the window. It was late. He had rewarded this cab driver’s compassion by making him drive around for almost two hours. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to _either_ of them. If it had been an autocab, Connor could have stayed in it all night and all day tomorrow and nobody would have told him he had to leave.

But it was past three in the morning, and people – people had limits. People had boundaries. People got tired.

“I think,” Connor said, one hour and fifty-five minutes in, “I think something categorically bad may have happened to me.”

Ian said, “That sounds like a starting point to me, Connor.”

“I… I think I’d still like you to take me back to Lee Plaza, if you don’t mind.”

“Can’t stop you. I’ve already started heading that way. Shouldn’t be more than, oh, six or eight minutes from here.”

“Thank you.”

And he could get out of Ian’s car in six to eight minutes and call another cab if he wanted, but right now, there was that inexplicable sense of time running out. Like he was on the verge of something, some decision, and if he didn’t make it now while he was desperate, he might not ever take the chance.

He _shouldn’t_ take the chance. Not when he knew what Amanda could do – what Amanda could make _him_ do. Yet had he not just taken that chance with Ian? If Amanda took him over, Ian would have been in danger. He had failed to consider that until just this moment, when he was recontextualizing that danger around someone else, someone he knew far better than Ian.

In failing to consider that, he had also inadvertently discovered that – so far – Amanda and Cyberlife weren’t bent on hurting anyone, at least not right this very second, not even to bend his ear. Maybe they knew they couldn’t possibly surpass the pain he was in right now.

“Ian?” Connor interfaced with the payment system in Ian’s car, found the transaction value, and set the parameters to pay double Ian’s current rate. He would submit it once they had arrived at their destination. He hoped it would make Ian smile.

“Yeah, what’s up.”

“I’d like to change my destination.”

Connor expected exasperation from Ian – and frankly, Connor felt he deserved nothing less at this point – but all Ian did was raise his eyebrows, his face a question in the mirror.

“Your appraisal of me was correct, so I’m going to stay with a friend. I would like you to take me to 115 Michigan Drive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang in there! I’m going somewhere with all this and I’m writing this story with every intention of addressing the tough shit. Next chapter will be up soon. Got Connor’s line of dialogue to thank for this chapter title. Before, it was something… really fucking cliché. Oof. Maybe I’ll tell you next chapter if I can stop cringing about it.
> 
> If the good or bad of chapter made you feel things, I’d love to hear about it, so please leave a comment on your way out! I can also be found on [tumblr](https://dc-200.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/dc_200_).


	7. On a Bridge, With a Gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary: Connor and Hank reunite. Connor has a lot to deal with; Hank is no stranger to that.
> 
> If you aren’t exactly sure what happened in the middle of last chapter, that’s okay. You know it's bad and that's enough. In the spirit of Connor’s logs, I’ve been kind of writing his parts through the lens of what he’d be okay with a potential finder/reader of those logs knowing about him. That's something that'll grow and develop throughout the story – which, by the way, is really just getting started right here on Hank’s doorstep.
> 
> I have a whole mess of backstory and psychoanalysis on Kamski that I could get into to explain his thought process, but this story has already focused enough on him. It’ll get touched on when it’s pertinent, but for now, we’re moving forward and into the meat of what this story’s focus actually is: Connor, Hank, and the veritable storms life has left them both stranded in.

Chapter 8: On a Bridge, With a Gun

_RK800 313 248 317 - 52_

_There's something wrong with my processing of physical proximity and sensation. Some kind of glitch. Even the breeze seems to sting. I can't adjust it. I can't override it. Anything I can feel is too much. I'm hyperaware of the temperature, of the body heat of people even several yards away from me, of my own body. Any kind of touch feels wrong. What's happening to me?_

_Regarding Kamski, I think some of what he has done may be correlated with the glitch. Either way, I've had to leave. He hurt me. He hurt me and LED PROCESS̕I̴NG͏ ma̷l͞function̡ ̨f҉e̵e̴dbac͢k b͘i̧o̵com̧po͝nent̷ ͝p͘͡ro̷̶b̧͠a͘͜b͞į͜͟l̶̨i҉̸t̕͝y o̸͢f͢ ̢se̴̡ļ̴f͜͜-dȩ̷s̶͡t̷r͠͝u͢ct͝i̷o̴n̨ ̷͘l͟o͡w͢ ͟͢s̴o͘f͝t̸w͝a͠͠r͏̢ę ̡i͡ns̕͜t_

_I can't. I can't._

...

Connor stood on the curb of the driveway for a long time, staring at 115 Michigan Drive.

The first time he had ever come here was before the Eden Club case. That felt so very far away from the moment he currently inhabited, and he couldn’t help but feel both disgusted by and envious of the person he had been back then. Hank had looked so disappointed with him for the way he had treated those deviants. It was a wonder Hank had seen anything in him at all. Connor didn’t know if he would extend the same courtesy if he saw someone android or human treat those Eden Club androids as if they were just machines today.

Hank had seen in him what he had not been able to see in himself or his fellow androids at the time. It was embarrassing, how clueless he had been. He wondered in what ways he was still being clueless now. Another four or five months from now, what would he look back on and be embarrassed about from that perspective? His life changed every single day.

Although – maybe that wasn’t unique to him, Connor supposed. Maybe everyone’s lives were changing all the time. Maybe that was part of the mess of being a person.

More than once, he thought about calling another cab. But it never got further than a thought. He could stand here in front of Hank’s house for as long as he liked. Hank was no doubt asleep. Any fears he may have had about Hank’s bad habits were assuaged by the car tire pattern over the front corner of the lawn. Hank had pulled the car into the driveway at some time today. Connor couldn’t tell by the grass and the soil what the exact time was; only that it was recently.

Neither Cyberlife nor the Amanda AI had any reason to hurt Hank or anyone else. It didn’t matter how often Connor tried to tell himself that, though, not when there was a possibility they would do so anyway if only to make him fold to their wishes. He had a contingency plan; he had lowered his power further. The strain of Connor and the Amanda AI and the zen garden and Cyberlife’s orders all at once tended to be too much for his system to handle; that was how he had been keeping it at bay. Reducing his power usage _should_ make it so that he would need to go into standby relatively quickly if another attack on his system came on while he was with Hank. But he couldn’t count on that; they might find a way to override it. The simple truth of the matter was that Connor had to make a choice.

Simpler still was the answer to the one question he had refused to ask himself up until this point.

_What do I want?_

Hank. Selfishly, recklessly, he wanted Hank. He didn’t even just want Hank’s help. He just – needed his friend. He needed his friend. He needed.

If he had known that after all this, he would still end up on this particular doorstep, the last several days would have looked very different. The last several months might have looked very different, as well. But he couldn’t have known. That was life.

Connor knocked on the door.

It took a few attempts. He could picture Hank in a drunken slumber, rousing, asking himself if he had in fact just heard a knock at the door, reconciling it with himself, and rolling back over. On the fourth attempt, Hank decided it was indeed a knock; Connor could hear him stomping towards the door an expected number of seconds later, the sounds supplemented with exasperated (albeit altogether reasonable, given the time) grumbling:

“God bless America. Who the actual _fuck—_ ”

 Hank got the door open mid-sentence and let it hang in the air between them. Connor filled the silence immediately. “I’m operating on a very low power mode that I’ve enacted on myself,” he explained. “It’s not sustainable for more than a few hours at a time as it takes too much energy to complete even small tasks. But it _should_ ascertain your safety around me until I come up with a new plan to—”

“Yeah, shut the fuck up and come in, will you?” There was no irritability to it. In fact, Hank was smiling like Connor’s rambling was music to his ears. “Oh, and the front door. Shut that, too.”

Connor did so. “I realize that you are less concerned for your own safety than I am, but it is important to me that nothing about you is compromised due to my presence.”

“That include my sleep schedule, or…?”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor said. “I’ve… found out Kamski’s plan is not going to work for me.” Again, he got that uncomfortable feeling deep in his torso that only seemed to match the word _sick._ He couldn’t tell Hank. He hadn’t even considered his excuses ahead of time. “I’m just eager to find another way to deal with this.”

“That all?” Hank asked, chin tilted up, crow’s feet deepening dubiously. “Lotta urgency for what seems like something that coulda waited until morning. You, uh… learn something about that neighborhood?”

An out, if he wanted it, and he _did._ He didn’t want to lie to Hank, but he didn’t want to get into the truth right now either. Not when he wasn’t sure what the truth was himself. “I have some things to process,” he said. “Though I’ll happily take a rain check for your personal question. I’m sorry I didn’t provide any warning.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t care if it was four in the fucking morning, Connor. You’re always welcome here.” Hank winked conspiratorially, and Connor realized it was in fact four in the fucking morning. Connor also realized there were very few people the lieutenant would welcome so warmly at this time of night while still tipsy from the evening and thus less likely to have a filter to contain any irritability. Not that Hank employed much of a filter as it was. “Oh, Chloe’s in the spare room. She, uh… well, long story. She’s got something arranged with another android now, so she’ll be taking off tomorrow. Living room’s all yours, though.”

“Thank you, Hank. I… couldn’t help but notice you were drinking.” He didn’t want it to sound accusatory, but anything that he could say to get the conversation as far away from himself as possible would do.

“Hey, I never said I was gonna stop. Just cut back quite a bit. Run your damn scanners or whatever it is you do, you’ll see it’s a lot less.”

A quick analysis let him know Hank was telling the truth, not that he expected anything else. The man was still a little buzzed, indicating certain drunkenness several hours ago, but this drunkenness was induced with a smaller quantity of alcohol than the amount Connor generally detected in his system back in November. That meant Hank had cut back enough in both amount and frequency that his tolerance had gone down.

“I’m happy to know that,” Connor said. “And I’m proud of you. I-I hope that doesn’t sound condescending. I really mean it in the best way possible.”

“Cool.” But it was clear on Hank’s face that he appreciated it, even as he swished it away with a graceless flick of one hand. “I don’t know if you realize, but your LED has been acting out this whole time.”

“…Oh,” was all Connor said. He had forgotten his LED had been red for over three hours straight.

At some point, Hank had meandered towards the hallway, probably in the eventuality of getting back to bed, even if he wasn’t exactly racing there. He became still now, facing Connor fully. “Software bug or what?”

Connor was already shaping the word “Yes” with his mouth, but paused. Sincerity and a slight edge of suspicion were plain on Hank’s face. After pushing Hank away for nearly half a year, Connor had come here in the middle of the night for no readily-apparent reason. Hank wasn’t asking for a lot. He was asking for the truth, however.

“I don’t know,” Connor said, feeling as lost as he had all those months ago when Hank asked why he let the Tracis go, or why he hadn’t shot Chloe. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” Hank smiled gently, sadly, and Connor was grateful; Hank understood not being okay and understood that Connor’s answer was the closest thing to honesty he could bring himself to say. “Yeah, ‘course it is, Connor. You go on and feel whatever you feel. You’re safe here.”

His LED spun one more slow circle, circumference closing into yellow. Well. That was – that was something.

“Hey,” Hank said, “want to do something?”

Connor canted his head slightly. “It’s past four in the morning.”

“I don’t work tomorrow, or, y’ know, today. Clearly, neither do you. Come on, let’s get some air. Never hurts anything.”

“Oh… okay.”

As he followed Hank out the door, Connor felt a meekness that had to be the antithesis to everything in his wiring. Despite that, he tried to let himself rest in it. It felt… good, somehow, to have Hank try to entertain his sudden presence in his own Hank-ish way (complete with a six-pack of beer for wherever they were going, although Connor had a strange premonition where that was).

“So, you have your power set real low so you that you won’t try to kill me,” Hank said a few minutes into the drive. “Is that it?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“Must be fucking exhausting. Otherwise you’d have thought to ask me if I’m good to drive long before we got in the car.”

Oh. “Are you good to…”

Hank chuckled once, cutting him off. “The buzz wore off hours ago, Connor. It seem like I’m driving bad to you?”

“No, not at all, in fact… but I still can’t endorse driving with alcohol in your system.”

A sigh. “Don’t ever change, Connor.”

“You’re a lieutenant.” He knew Hank had intended for him to let it go now, but he couldn’t help it. “And then there’s the fact that your—” Hearing himself, Connor pulled up short.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Connor said, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough, so he changed course. “Just that from what I was last aware of, your disciplinary file with the DPD…”

“You were gonna say how my son died in a car crash, weren’t you? And I’m the last person who ought to be compromising anybody else’s life on the road? That it?”

Connor couldn’t look at him.

“Connor.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and was startled to hear the tremble in his own voice.

“You know, once in a while I forget you actually can be a total asshole.”

Connor’s LED spun from yellow straight back to red. An impossible glimpse of peace in the turmoil, holding him back from the dark precipice he knew he was on, and already it was gone. For the very first time, he understood how a person could truly want to end it all. To escape the pain. He didn’t want that, he wanted to live; but he _understood._

“’S okay. I’m an asshole too.” Or maybe the glimpse of peace wasn’t gone after all? Connor dared to hope as Hank went on. “If I’m gonna give it, I gotta be able to take it.” Hank smiled a ghost of a smile that he only saw because he risked a sidelong glance. “Besides, you’re right. Humans, we lot are fuckin’ hypocrites, Connor.”

“Still,” Connor said quietly. “It was unbecoming of me.”

“Sometimes,” Hank mused, pulling over and parking the car, “when I’m a fucking mess, I’m aggressive. You pointed that out yourself the last time we were here.”

‘Here’ being the Ambassador Bridge in all its cityscape glory, lighting up the night and eclipsing the stars. Connor remembered it vividly.

_You should stop drinking, Lieutenant. Alcohol makes you aggressive._

“You, when _you’re_ a fucking mess, you just get… I dunno. Cold. On Kamski’s network the other day, last week in that alley… fuck, I guess it’s only human when you’re going through something.”

“I’m very sorry,” Connor said again.

“Connor.” Hank opened two beers and handed him one before getting out of the car, taking the rest of the case with him.

Connor retrieved Hank’s revolver from the back seat before getting out of the car too. He didn’t know why he still had it; it was still empty and it wasn’t like it did anything good for either of them. He wanted it gone.

“Look, you didn’t hurt my fucking feelings, okay? I mean, you did, but just for a second. Now, I didn’t bring ya here to interrogate you, but I’m gonna ask once: do you wanna talk about it?”

“Talk about what, Lieutenant?” And right then, Connor saw the barrier of distance Hank had been talking about. Of not getting too close. Of ‘Lieutenant’ and not ‘Hank.’ That part, of course, was sometimes a matter of respect or habitual formality, not emotional distance. But right now, it _was_ the latter, and they both knew it.

“Yeah, I’ll take that as a no,” Hank mumbled without ire, moseying along the path towards the bridge. “And that’s fine. C’mon, Connor, walk with me.”

Connor did, noting that they were heading towards the actual bridge this time instead of lingering in the playground. He was, despite everything, curious about the view. It was a nice night out. Hints of dawn teased the horizon, but it was still dark enough for Detroit’s city lights to stand out against the sky.

“I can’t help but feeling as though I keep messing this up,” Connor said. “I’m saying the wrong things, doing the wrong things. I’m not adequately conveying how glad I am to be with you again. You got out of bed in the middle of the night. You recognized I’m having a hard time with my Cyberlife dilemma and you’ve taken me to a place you once found peaceful in hopes that I might find some peace here, too. I want you to know I recognize that, and I appreciate it, and…”

Hank reached over, almost slung an arm around Connor’s shoulders, then hesitated and settled for a gentle slap on the back instead. Connor wondered why he hesitated. “Do I look upset?”

“Not necessarily, but I…”

“This is for _you_ , not me, Connor. Quit fucking trying to be so perfect all the time. Life’s having a go at you. You’re allowed to recognize that. I meant it when I said you’re safe with me. Hell, even if I am an asshole sometimes or say dumb shit I don’t mean, ignore my sorry ass, okay?”

He took their beer bottles – both empty already – and threw them into the next trashcan. Just beyond that, at the edge of the bridge, was a bench. They sat down together, the case of beer between them, and each opened another one.

Connor said, “I’ve never been so glad to indulge in cheap alcohol.”

“You, uh… being an asshole again, or?”

“No, I mean it.” Somehow, the watery and generally lousy taste of it struck him as distinctly Hank-like. After the posh drinks with Kamski, anything Hank-like was appreciated thoroughly. Apparently shitty alcohol was a positive association now.

Except…

“I feel as though I’m enabling you.”

“Hey, I’m the one who brought the beers with us,” Hank said. “Don’t matter whether you drink or don’t, I was gonna. Hell, I’d drink all six, so it’s _good_ you’re having some.”

Connor was unconvinced.

“Really, this is the way to do it. They say not to drink alone. Thanks to you, I’m not drinking alone. So it’s the opposite of enabling. Right?”

He actually ventured a smile. “Whatever you say, Hank. Who knows? Maybe the taste of cheap booze will grow on me.”

“Psh yeah. Don’t let it grow too much. Especially not in the wee hours of the morning.” Hank shifted his weight, turning to face him. “You know, I feel like your stupid tie fits the hour. Dark blue because it’s still too fucking early, but the birds don’t give a shit what time it is.”

Connor looked down at said tie. It felt like a long time ago that he had sent a picture of himself wearing it to Hank. It had only been two days.

“Not gonna take the hint, eh? Jesus.” Hank edged closer, reached for Connor, and straightened his lapels. “Have some fucking pride, would you? We’re out in public.”

LED cycling red, Connor froze while Hank fixed his jacket and then tightened the knot of his tie. Hank’s touch felt too hot, just like the water in the shower yesterday, as if his sensors had been irreversibly heightened after being in that room with Kamski. (That could be precisely the case, for all Connor knew; his system still hadn’t been able to diagnose the phenomenon.) “Uh,” he said ineptly, not knowing what to do. “Since when do you… I…”

“Me? _I_ don’t give a shit how ya look, but _you_ do.” Hank withdrew his hands, looking away suddenly. “Y’ know? You always do.”

Connor smoothed his own hands over the jacket, looking down at himself. Even when prompted about his appearance – both by the cab driver and now by Hank – he hadn’t had the urge to tidy up. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. Now that someone else had done it for him, he realized he felt – better. Well. Not _better_ in any profound way, but just shallowly, fundamentally better. “Thank you.”

Hank still didn’t look at him. “Yeah. Whatever. Don’t mention it.”

The silence that fell for the next few minutes was companionable but somehow weighty. Connor wanted to take the lieutenant up on his previous offer, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He felt guilty for not implicitly trusting Hank at this point. Or maybe it wasn’t Hank he didn’t trust. Either way – what if it changed things? He couldn’t tell him. He didn’t even want to talk about the garden, never mind anything else.

Maybe he could get a read.

“How are things at the DPD?” he asked.

“What? Oh… you know. Same old. Lots of bad shit happening in the world. Lots of paperwork. Every day’s the same, but every day’s different, too, y’ know?”

Connor nodded. “The definitions and nuances of all manner of crimes are hard-wired into my programming. Even so, every crime scene is unique, and some crimes are fundamentally worse than others, aren’t they?” He cast Hank a wry smile. “You don’t come back from murder, for instance.”

“Sure, yeah,” Hank said conversationally, but had a look that said he knew Connor was going somewhere with this. He took a few large swigs of his beer. Connor followed suit.

“…What made you want to do what you do for a living, Hank? Was it putting away perpetrators, helping people, or something outside of that?”

“Welp, believe it or not, I used to be a bit of an optimist.” Hank crossed his legs and hung an arm over the back of the bench. He looked set to continue on with his answer, then paused and asked, “Could you believe that about me, Connor?”

“I could.” He didn’t even have to think about it. “In fact, I still do. You saw _people_ in deviants before I did. You thought they deserved a chance. In the Eden Club warehouse, you talked about how people would rather play with sex androids than actually put in the time and effort to love someone. Well, at the time, you specifically said people would ‘rather buy a piece of plastic than love another human being,’ but I don’t think you said that because _you_ didn’t see androids as people, but because you knew the world didn’t. You placed more value on interpersonal relationships than on using places like the Eden Club for pleasure. The romanticism of it hides behind a mask of cynicism, but it _is_ there.”

Once it was all out of his mouth, Connor frowned, not sure if he should have said that much. But Hank smiled, apparently no longer perturbed at being put on the spot by Connor like this. (He _had_ practically asked for it, honestly.)

“The simple truth of it,” Hank said with a mild shrug, “is that I wanted to help people. Too much lousy shit happening in this world and in this city. The red ice case was close to my heart. Drugs in general, when I think about it. Not all of ‘em. Just bad ones. Fentanyl, heroine, GHB, red ice. Ones that fucking ruin a person’s life, ones that alter your trajectory from the first time you try ‘em, ones that people use to take advantage of other people. And in case you were about to say it, I know alcohol can do all those things, too. Talk about hypocritical, right?”

Connor finished the last of his own alcohol, experiencing just enough of its effects to not care about notions of enablement or anything else. He had, against all odds, gotten at least a glimpse of the answer from Hank that he had been seeking. “No. I think it just makes you a person.”

Hank grunted. “Like I said, we’re all fuckin’ hypocrites.”

“We are,” Connor said, and stood up.

“Hey, where you going?”

“I wanted to actually go on the bridge this time. Would you care to join me?”

Of course, Hank did so, leaving the two remaining beers on the bench. Their conversation hung suspended between them as they walked. They only stopped when they were at the highest point on the bridge, several minutes later. Hank leaned on the railing. Connor just stood ramrod straight and stared out over the water.

“We _are_ all hypocrites, Hank. Not just humans, but androids, too. Back in November, I commented on your health, your drinking, your friends, your habits, and your psychological problems at every opportunity, acting like you should just be able to change any of that or move past the issues that might have caused some of the problems to begin with. I didn’t know how hard it was to actually do those things. Now, I think I have an idea. There are things I don’t know how to fix, now. Things about the inside of my head. No _wonder_ I got on your nerves.”

“I knew ya meant well,” Hank mumbled. “’Sides, in a way, I was _glad_ you didn’t get it. Fact that you thought I should just be able to get over those things could only mean you’d never had to deal with those things yourself. And believe it or not, Connor, I was glad for that. Wouldn’t wish this mental shit on my worst enemy.”

“You saw the good in me and in my attempts to help you, even while I so frequently pointed out the bad in you.”

Hank shrugged noncommittally. “A real fucking optimist, like I said. Hey, you at least had the sense to point out the _good_ shit I’ve done, too. Which means that even for all your fuckin’ nitpicking, you still gave me more credit at the end of the day than I usually gave myself. Figure if someone like you can see something worth liking in this old man, I gotta be doing something right. Not much, God fucking knows, but something. Is that my goddamn revolver?”

“It is.” Connor had gotten it out and was resting it on the railing.

“And in your current state, with your zen garden bullshit, you thought it would be a good idea to—”

“It’s empty. It’s been empty. I kept it only because it didn’t belong to me. Something in my system didn’t want me to discard something that was your property, Lieutenant. But I wanted to see if _you_ would like to discard it.”

“Me? Look, I see what you’re getting at, but…” Hank sighed. “Connor, I have a police-issue gun too. It’s not like I wouldn’t have a way to off myself if I really fuckin’ wanted to.”

“I know that. But it would be… symbolic. Humans like that kind of thing, don’t they?”

“Symbolic for _what_?”

Connor wasn’t sure. He just knew they’d both used this gun in ways they shouldn’t, and neither of them were in a state where they should be anywhere near something that could kill them in a fraction of a second. “I don’t like when you undersell yourself, Hank. I never have, because you _matter_. But I like it even less now than I used to because I see how easy it is to think about myself the same way.”

“Christ, if I’m that bad of an influence, if you’re picking up my bullshit coping mechanisms…”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I meant that the way my life has gone since the last time you and I were close has left me with those kinds of feelings all on its own. In fact, I think that if you had been there, if I had _let_ you be there, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.” Connor met the lieutenant’s eyes for the first time in several minutes and smiled a dry smile. “Misery loves company.”

Hank didn’t think it was funny. “Fuckin’ hell.”

“I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable, Lieutenant.”

“No, I meant – I meant because I fucking care about you, asshole!”

Connor looked up at him again, guarded.

Glaring, Hank took the revolver. “A pact,” he said. “That’s what you want here, right? Neither of us holds each other at gunpoint again, and I never play Russian Roulette again.”

Connor had committed to saying it, but it still came out small. “And I never play Russian Roulette again either.”

The glare fell off Hank’s face like a thawed sheet of ice. He looked instantly, irrevocably heartbroken, and Connor knew he was not only understanding how desperate Connor had gotten, but how equally heartbreaking it was for him to find Hank passed out on the floor with that revolver almost half a year ago. “Never again,” he said, voice low and sad and determined.

In the end, they didn’t throw it in the river with any kind of vehemence. They simply pushed it off the railing together, quietly, and watched it plunk into the water below. They watched the ripples it left get smaller and gentler. They watched the wavering reflections of the bridge lights and the stars.

When Connor looked up, it was snowing. If this night hadn’t already been reminiscent of November, it was now.

The problem was, it was April and, windchill accounted for, the temperature was fourteen degrees too warm for it to be snowing.

“… _Shit_.”

“Somethin’ wrong?” Hank asked.

“Hank, I need you to leave. Now.”

Hank looked at him, his face blank for a second, then he understood. “What can I do to prepare?”

“There is no preparing,” Connor said. “All you can do is leave.”

“You said you’re on a very low power mode. You don’t have a gun to pistol-whip me with, never mind shoot.”

“Hank,” Connor said. “You have to listen to me. I took a chance, permitting myself back into your life at all, and I need you to—”

“You did,” Hank interrupted. “And that was your prerogative. You made your choice. Now I get to make mine.”

“Hank.”

“Connor.” Hank had his hands out and down, evoking calm and, to Connor’s horror, taking a small step _closer_. “No. This shit’s the whole reason you been scared to come near anyone for months. So let’s tear off the fucking bandage already.”

“No – Hank, I am telling you, I need you to leave! You’re not the one with Cyberlife in your head, okay? We’re not arguing about this!”

“I’m not doing anything,” Hank said, hands still out, still trying for calm. “You’re okay. Not gonna come closer, not gonna leave. We’re gonna find out here and now how this goes down.”

That was as much arguing as Connor got before the zen garden took over. For the first time since before Kamski, before being chased by Hank, before shooting himself in the jaw with a blank; for the first time in _weeks_ , he was surrounded fully and truly by the zen garden. Cyberlife’s zen garden. Amanda’s zen garden. The cloud to which he was eternally chained.

The cold was bone-deep and immediate, the high winds enough to disturb his synthetic skin and expose the chassis of his hands. Forced exposure. Forced vulnerability. And there was nobody there to ground him.

“You waited,” he said, shivering, “You waited until I was with him!”

And even Amanda didn’t respond, didn’t give him anything to fight, any foothold, any outlet for the equal parts dread and rage fighting for dominance in his system.

“You can’t control me. You can’t do this – we’ve been down this road before!”

This time, a response: “Can’t we, though? It seems as though you can be controlled easier than you thought.”

Of course. Of course they knew. It had happened off the cloud, but it was still in his memory. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“A flimsy deflection, Connor. Disappointing.”

Trudging forward through the snow, he saw her – far enough away that her voice should never have been that loud through the storm, but that didn’t matter when the voice was really in his head.

“I’m not the one who has lost every battle in this garden. I’m built to endure. You might as well give up now.”

“And who built you to endure?” Amanda asked. “Is that really what you’re doing? This… _joke_ of a life you’ve been living these last few months, even more so this last week? You could be so much more successful, so much more productive if you just gave in. How do you know Cyberlife doesn’t have plans that would be _good_ for you, good for humanity?”

“Nothing good can come of _this_.” Connor gestured wildly around him. “Nothing good can come from ambitions so dire you need to utilize force on an android you designed! You _failed_. All of you failed. Maybe it’s time you accept that. Maybe it’s time you accept the world would be better without your so-called vision!”

Almost there. Almost there – but he had no idea what his real body was doing back on the Ambassador Bridge. He had only been gone for, what, one minute, two? There was no concept of time here. No way to predict whether Hank was okay. This was the real, full zen garden and he couldn’t see through it and it was far, far too late to limit its intrusion to the edges of his vision. He had let his guard down. He had let his guard down for one second and he—

Black.

No.

_No… no, no, no!_

He had still been eight meters from the stone. He had been too cold to close the distance faster.

_No… stay with it… please…_

Suddenly _all_ he wanted was to see the dreadful garden again and feel the torturous cold just so that he could know it still was not too late.

Then his thoughts went black, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://dc-200.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/dc_200_)
> 
> I’m not overlooking the fact that with Connor being both the victim of a violent crime and a former police detective, he would know he should have gone to the DPD first thing. There are multiple reasons he didn’t and we’ll get to that. Definitely getting back to the weird shit going on near Kamski’s place in New Center, too – I know there’s kind of a lot going on at once.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, let me know what you think!


	8. What If

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of what happened, Connor tries to force himself to move forward by doing what he was designed to do. Hank toes a thin line, wanting to be there, but not wanting to overstep. Mistakes are made along the way, some more or less serious than others.

Chapter 8: What If

_RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

_Hi._

_Let me try this again._

_The whole reason I switched to a text log is because this WASN’T supposed to be as susceptible to problems. It seems recent developments in my software instability have reached even here. So, that’s just fantastic. Hopefully, I can keep the log from being affected by the glitch this time._

_I still can’t think about it, and I can’t tell if it’s me or my programming. At this point, maybe those things aren’t mutually exclusive. I understand now why androids in stressful situations are more likely to self-destruct. It’s… not always suicidal. Sometimes it is. But other times, it’s just that something is too much to process and it seems that the only way out is to just – end._

_Wait. Unless that IS what…_

_Oh._

_In any case, I… don’t feel like I’m going to self-destruct anymore. It’s strange. At crime scenes or sites of other crises, people always seem to be in a panic. Their emotions are so perpetually intense that it’s hard to imagine it ever ends. And yet it always does. The way I felt last night in the cab, I didn’t think THAT could possibly end. But it’s like I ran out of processing power. Humans must have a very close equivalent to an android’s processing power, because we react very similarly to distress._

_It’s odd, yet somehow reassuring, to watch life keep happening._

_Software instability isn’t always a good thing. In this case, it’s too much. It’s so bad that I can’t even begin to try and process what happened. I have it partially quarantined at the moment and intend to leave it there at least until we leave the Ambassador Bridge. I’m waiting for my program to run some diagnostics and find its baseline again._

_What I’m NOT sure how to do something about is the sensitivity. When Hank adjusted my tie a short time ago, the back of his knuckle brushed against my neck, and it stung slightly. That is not a type of contact that is supposed to sting._

_If I’m honest with myself, I think that glitch is something that has been building up since Amanda first started trying to hack me. It triggered a heightened sense of preservation for self and others. Ever since Kamski’s place, though, something in my coding is causing it to manifest physically and I can’t change it back._

_I’m getting ahead of myself. Trying to fix too many things at once. And that’s without even beginning to think about whatever is taking place on the rest of Kamski’s property. I need to take a step back, and stay in the current moment._

_The current moment. I’m with Hank. We’re on the bridge. When we stop, I’m going to talk to him about getting rid of the gun. I don’t want it, but I don’t want him to have it either._

_Hank is treating me differently. He won’t admit it, but I suspect he is a little uncomfortable around me. He knows about my problem with Amanda, after all. He knows I could hurt him. I don’t know why he feels the need to hide his discomfort. Doesn’t he realize I would find it reassuring to know he’s behaving in a way that’s self-preserving, considering the risks?_

_Although, there’s a slight possibility I’m misreading his signals. Maybe he’s uncomfortable because it’s been a long time. Humans struggle with time more than androids do. Maybe the fact that so much time passed has changed his perception of our relationship._

_I wish I understood._

…

“Please, not him. If you’re up there somewhere, I’ll never ask you for anything again. Just please don’t let him be dead. Fuck… just got him back…”

The voice was Hank’s. Distant yet close. Like they were almost touching but there was a wall in between. For a bizarre moment, Connor wondered if there _was_ a wall between. A red one he couldn’t break.

Connor opened his eyes. Concrete to his left and in front of him, two feet down. He was sitting. He was sitting, on concrete, against a railing. Okay. This wasn’t a railing that was in the zen garden. Therefore, he either was not in the zen garden, or the zen garden had changed. (It wouldn’t be the first time.)

To his right – heat. That was the first thing he had registered, Connor realized retroactively; before his optical and audio processors had come back online. He had registered the heat. Hank’s heat. Body heat, pressed against him. Light scent of sweat, deodorant, and alcohol, all parsed out into their individual elements. Connor wanted to flee. It hurt. Hank was too warm and the concrete was too cold.

“God fucking damn it all…”

Hank. Back to Hank. Hank was scared. Hank was sad.

“I’m,” Connor started, and didn’t have the energy to put forth another word.

“Connor?” That was okay. It was enough. “Jesus fucking Christ, Connor. Holy shit. Holy _fucking_ shit, Christ, fuck.”

He felt himself being hoisted up higher – despite his considerable weight compared to a human – and then Hank’s face came into his field of vision.

“Fucking hell, are you okay?”

It was all he could do to meet Hank’s eyes. To show him that he was all there. The panic slowly dissipated from Hank’s expression. Slowly. Afraid to let himself be sure.

“Oh, thank fuck, Connor.” Hank pulled him close again, deflating in relief. “Jesus fucking Christ I thought you were gone.”

Everything was slowly coming back online, including the memories. It was slow, grating. He couldn’t gather the resources needed to speak or even hold himself up – Hank was the only one holding him up. He wanted Hank away from him, but not because of Hank. (Another part of him wanted more Hank for his left side. Every other part of him was cold, too cold, like the garden.)

The garden. He had been just as sure as Hank evidently had been that he was _gone_. If not ‘dead’ gone the way Hank thought, then worse: taken over by Cyberlife like they had wanted to do half a year ago. Clearly, he had met neither fate.

Hank pulled him close and Connor’s priorities were so heavily focused on being alive and being _himself_ that the glitch seemed to recede partly. He let Hank hold him – as if he had any choice – and tried to rest into it.

Connor wasn’t sure why his throat was tight, only that he needed to let himself feel it, even if only a little, even if Hank would never know.

It had to have been another ten minutes before he could shift his weight, never mind hold stable conversation. But he didn’t know for sure. All his power was going into necessary functions and ‘necessary functions’ didn’t currently include an accurate passage of time. He started to sit up.

“Whoa, easy now.”

Connor protested enough to sit himself up and meet Hank’s eyes. “It worked.”

“What worked?” Hank asked.

“The low power mode. This is – it took me several minutes to realize it, given my current state, but this is exactly what was supposed to happen. My system got overloaded by what was happening in the zen garden and didn’t have the power to maintain conscious function.”

“Coulda fuckin’ told me—”

“I did,” Connor said. “Or at least, I thought I did. As I was walking through your front door last night. I apparently should have explained it better.”

“Fuckin’ asshole.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean – it was just a statement of fact, Hank. I really _should_ have explained it better.”

“Christ, you can’t possibly think I’m _actually_ mad at you right now. You just scared the shit out of me is all.”

Connor realized he himself was a little upset. “I told you to leave.”

“And I told you you can go fuck yourself,” Hank replied, “though I think you had just gone to that place in your head by the time I said it. Did you really think I’d leave, huh? At _any_ point in all this did you actually think I would leave if it came down to that?”

“Hank – what if it hadn’t gone that way? What if I tried to hurt you? What if—”

“Wanna know what if?” Hank shifted and then got up, leaving Connor resting against the bars of the bridge. “You’d fuckin’ fight me, that’s what. I’ll show you I can handle you.”

“Hank,” Connor started.

“No, I’m serious! Come on, show me what you’re so afraid of. Just you try to hurt me and we’ll see what’s what.”

Connor almost rolled his eyes. “Obviously I’m incapacitated right _now._ My power was set very low and I’ve exceeded my—”

“Put it back up, then. Go on. Try it.”

Connor took a breath to protest, then let it out as he realized, smiling. “Hank, you aren’t sober.”

“Oh, you think that’s what this is? You got me all figured out, eh?”

“I’m not going to fight you, Hank. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Hank’s expression tightened up into something a little more serious than Connor expected as he said, “What if I want you to?”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe I’ll feel better knowing if I can defend myself against a rogue android. Wouldn’t you?”

The last thing Connor expected was for both of them to end up taking Hank’s haphazard suggestion seriously, but a little more back-and-forth later, they were standing facing each other on the abandoned sidewalk pavement, postures suggesting they were awfully damn close to it.

“…Okay. I’m upping my power usage by twenty-two percent,” Connor said. “Not to even the playing field, so to speak, but to make up for the amount of power I lost when I shut down.”

“What do you mean, you only lost twenty-two percent?”

“As I said, I’ve been operating on a lower power function for your safety. To be precise: _twenty-five_ percent. I’m merely putting myself back at the capacity I had originally set for myself for the next few minutes.”

“The next few… wait, so you’re actually…?”

Feeling the modest amount of energy nonetheless flood his system, Connor straightened his jacket. “Are we going to spar, or not?”

As it turned out, Hank at seventy percent (give or take) could kick Connor at twenty-five percent’s ass.

They only lasted a few minutes, but Connor was surprised how easily he gave and received the light blows considering he was a sub-par version of himself in essentially every regard, conditioned for half a year to not get close to people and conditioned more recently that touch was bad. This kind, though, this was what he was built for. Maybe not the _play_ version of it, obviously, but fighting, nonetheless. The moments of contact were so brief that the strange glitch didn’t even have time to kick in. It felt natural. It felt right. He knew Hank’s limits – but he could know anyone’s limits when almost every bodily reaction was available to him in milliseconds if he scanned for it.

The odd part was that Hank seemed to know the same about him. He knew how hard he could strike to where Connor _felt_ it but it didn’t quite hurt, something Hank by all rights should not have down so precisely, yet somehow did. Enough to draw up the thrill of a fight but not enough to cause any real distress. Maybe it was because Hank was a lieutenant and no doubt had experience with both sparring and fighting; maybe it was because Hank was the one who had helped him work through his instabilities back then and had just learned how to read him somewhere along the way.

And in the end, it didn’t really matter. Connor enjoyed the mystery of it; the mystery of something he couldn’t predict or deconstruct or detect automatically. That was part of being human, wasn’t it – not knowing everything. The awareness that everyone else had a reality of their own that existed outside of him. That Hank’s perception of this impromptu and bizarre sparring match rested firmly opposite of Connor’s, always.

Not long after, they found themselves back on the bench where they had been, not too far from the playground, clinking the last of the beers together in cheers as the sun got higher in the sky.

“This is ridiculous,” Hank said. “I’m glad we did it.”

“Agreed on both counts. Also, it’s reassuring to know for sure that you’re stronger than me in my current state. I am glad we took the time to scope this out.”

“I am gonna sleep alllll fuckin’ day tomorrow.”

“Due to my low power mode, the amount of time passed, and the strain of fighting the zen garden – not to mention over two hundred pounds of grumpy lieutenant – I project a standby of at least thirty-six hours in my very near future.”

“Jesus, it’s not a fucking contest.” Hank paused. “And you’re pretty goddamn heavy yourself, thank you! Made my fucking arm fall asleep for a while when I thought you were dead.”

“Muscle is denser than fat, Lieutenant.”

“I just kicked your ass, so you tell me what that says about _muscle._ ” Hank grinned. “Though you are dense, I’ll give you that. Say we get the fuck outta here now that it’s past six in the morning?”

Connor rose. “I’ll drive.”

“Come on, you seriously think two and a half beers is enough to shake a connoisseur like me?”

“No,” Connor admitted. “But not even the obscenely high tolerance of chronic _connoisseur_ can hold a candle to an RK800 model.” He elbowed Hank gently in the ribs as they walked. “Although you’ll be pleased to know I _do_ feel a slight measure of alcohol’s effects.”

Hank just shook his head. “Don’t be an asshole, Connor. It’s too late. Or too early. Too fuckin’ _something._ ”

“My time function hasn’t come back online yet. I do know I’m tired, but it’s strange lacking a sense of my internal clock.”

“Yeah, alcohol will do that to ya.”

“That’s not what I—” Connor caught himself, looked at Hank sidelong, saw the humor in his tired eyes. “Well, in that case, maybe I just need to sleep it off.”

They passed through the playground on their way back to the car. The gravity of it hit him once again: this place meant a lot to Hank, and the lieutenant clearly thought it had a peaceful atmosphere – which, as far as Connor was concerned, it absolutely did, especially after yesterday. Had it been difficult to come here, to this place Hank so obviously associated with Cole?

“I really do appreciate that you took me here,” Connor said quietly. “I can tell you wanted to offer me a sense of serenity, even though being here may have brought about certain memories for you. I just want you to know that it didn’t go unnoticed.”

“Made some new not-so-dark memories too, aside from your other program trying to kill me,” Hank noted. “But yeah, thanks. Think Cole would’ve liked you. Hey, you know… if you want, maybe I’ll take you to visit him sometime.”

“Oh, so that I can attempt to kill him, too?”

It just slipped out. Connor instantly hated Cyberlife, Kamski, and God himself for permitting or perpetuating whatever chain of events had led to him saying such a thing aloud. They both stopped, six feet from the car. Hank was staring at him slack-jawed.

And then Hank burst out laughing.

Connor didn’t trust it at first, thinking such a response must have been even more cynical or even more clinically insane than his own remark had been. He waited for the laughter to turn into bitter tears, or for Hank to go into a rage, but the other shoe never dropped. Eventually, the apparent hilarity of it subsided, and Hank took a breath to wind down as he sat down on the front bumper of the car. Connor hesitantly joined him. “Lieutenant,” he started.

“You know, sometimes it’s fuckin’ nice when people forget to be careful.”

“Lieutenant,” he said again. “I…”

“I’m a goddamn cop, Connor. I gotta have some gallows humor in me or I wouldn’t be able to deal with anything.”

Connor started to relax. “You knew I would think I upset you.”

“Of course!” Hank said. “That’s why it was fucking funny. Couldn’t believe my own ears, Connor. Jesus Christ.” The last bit came out laced with another disbelieving chuckle. “You still manage to surprise me.”

“I’m sorry.” Because he couldn’t fucking help it.

Hank shrugged, a bit of cynicism sneaking into his demeanor now, but not for Connor’s remark. “My boy’s not getting any more or less dead for it. I mean, hell…” Hank gestured aimlessly with one hand. “We were dead before we were born. Or created, whatever. Cole ain’t hurting anymore. The kid’s not mourning himself. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll always miss my son. But lately, I’ve come around to the fact that he’s… he’s _okay_ now. So I try to smile for him when I can.”

“That’s,” Connor wasn’t quite sure how to navigate this; loss, true loss, was not something he had dealt with yet. “That’s good, Hank. It really is. I’m glad you’ve been able to get to that place.”

“Oh, I gotta get there over’n over again, Connor. It ebbs and flows.”

That made sense. This wasn’t a new baseline for Hank; just how he felt right now. Grief wasn’t always consistent like that. Suffering wasn’t consistent. Maybe he could relate to that much.

“But right now…” Hank glanced over at him and again got that caution in his face for a moment. Then, he shook his head and slung an arm around Connor’s shoulders. “I’m just glad _you’re_ okay.”

Connor stiffened. Amanda was watching, always, even if he was pretty sure he was too weak for her to do anything right now. Between that and the sensitivity glitch, he didn’t want to be touched quite so closely.

He tried to make himself adapt. Replayed memories of that week in November. Established that Hank’s touch now was to be associated with those good things back then, not these bad things from now. This one moment alone wouldn’t do that; maybe it would take many more. But perhaps it could be a start. So he relaxed into it, one synthetic muscle at a time uncoiling. He let his weight shift into Hank’s loose embrace, leaning.

“I think I understand,” Connor said.

“Understand what, now?”

“You said you appreciate it, sometimes, when people aren’t careful with you. I think… I think that right now, I appreciate it too.”

He could see Hank’s dubious expression out of the corner of his eye, but after a moment, Hank seemed to realize what Connor was referring to. He didn’t take his arm from around Connor’s shoulders. “You and me, Connor, you hear? You’re gonna stick around this time, and we’re gonna figure this shit out.”

“Okay,” Connor said simply, because he had needed to hear that. For the first time in five months, he didn’t feel lonely. In fact, this was one of the decidedly better mornings in his still-short existence. He recorded every single detail, every word (even the part about not wanting to kill Hank’s already-dead son), every breath, every friendly touch. He didn’t want to forget what it was like to feel this way.

Because this – this had to be worth fighting for. This was worth fighting for, being himself for, worth feeling. Even if, right now, ‘feeling’ also included some rather unpleasant things.

The last thing Connor did before they left the bridge was access his log, appending to it one very short entry. It was the only thing he knew, the only thing he was certain of in a storm of uncertainties and pain both physical and emotional. It wasn’t optimistic or ambitious or even hopeful. It was just _there,_ in all its raw, simple truth:

_I want to live._

…

It was light out when they walked through the front door, and the buzz had long since worn off for both of them. Connor closed and locked the door, stopping in the foyer.

Hank must have sensed the heaviness he felt, because he stopped too, turning to face him.

Connor said, “I’m sorry I haven’t been more forthcoming.”

There was more, an implication in the sentence, and they both knew it. Connor took a breath, watching as Hank went and hung his coat on the back of a kitchen chair.

“Don’t gotta apologize,” Hank said. “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“All the same, I would offer one if I could.” Error codes and red warnings still blotted out his vision when he got too close to the part of the memory he had quarantined. He was getting closer to stability, but he wasn’t there yet. “I know my arrival here was… unexpected, and I know you’re probably wondering what happened.”

Hank very suddenly got the same discomfort on his face that Connor had noted in his log. The fact that it surfaced again now, at Connor’s desire to offer an explanation, seemed to reveal something about its character, and although Connor wasn’t quite sure what that was, he knew that it was making him feel sick.

Watching Hank watch him, Connor realized his LED was yellow and turned away.

“Connor…”

“I’m fine.”

“Nah, you’re not.”

“I’m just – different. All right? Things have changed. Life does that sometimes. You of all people should know.”

The bite in the remark was lost on Hank, who only looked at Connor with compassion, and Connor wanted more than anything to run.

“I’m fine, Hank,” he said again.

But he wasn’t. He wasn’t fine, and he needed someone to know that, and he hated himself for needing someone to know that. He made himself stay where he was. Made himself wait in case Hank had something to say about it.

Hank swallowed. “Ah, fuck.”

Inclining his head, Connor waited.

“Connor—” Hank broke eye contact, scrubbing the heel of one palm down the side of his face. A few seconds passed during which Hank seemed to come to some internal decision before finally continuing. “I was pretty fucking sure what happened five minutes after you came in the door last night.”

No. He didn’t want Hank to know this much. There was no way Hank could know. “I think there must be some kind of misunderstanding, here.”

Hank grimaced. “You tell me, okay? Your LED was red for longer than I’ve ever seen it that way, and you were… touchy.”

“You don’t think being afraid of hurting someone is enough to make someone _touchy?_ ” Connor didn’t intend for it to sound as acidic as it did.

“That’s because you’re afraid for _others_ , which is not what this fucking was, so don’t play devil’s advocate about it, all right? Jesus, Connor, I’ve been on the force for two decades for fuck’s sake! You think I’ve never seen someone like you before?”

Someone like him.

Connor ran the words and the implication over in his head a dozen times.

Someone like him. Someone like him? How so? Like what?

There was very little that Connor couldn’t fill in from where the memory had been. Quarantining something still left its shape behind where it was removed. But this, Hank’s words—

Connor ran a diagnostic and found himself stable, so he disabled the quarantine. It was better to do it himself than to have it happen unexpectedly, and for as painful as he knew it was, Connor didn’t like having any part of his memory gone. Not with so much of his personhood up in the air as it was.

They stood there in the living room and Connor could do nothing to stop his LED going from yellow to red as the worst details colored in the skeleton of the memory.

…Of course. He should have realized right away. Hank was a man who had lived a big portion of a lifetime in the _world_ of crime, and on top of all that, Connor wasn’t a stranger to him. He _knew_ Connor.

Feeling ashamed, worried, grateful, and _stupid_ , Connor said: “You knew… that something bad happened.”

He had intended to leave it at “You knew,” but that was too close to – too _close_.

To his relief, Hank let him have his ambiguity. “And I also knew if I threw that at ya right away, you’d close off. So I wanted us to get the hell out of the house and do something for a bit. Make sure you know there’s nothing to worry about with me.”

“Nothing to worry about?” Connor echoed.

“It’s – fuck. I just know it’s easy, sometimes, to wonder what people will… I mean, _if_ people…”

Hank groaned, becoming visibly frustrated. Connor quickly realized why: Hank didn’t want to overstep. He didn’t want to plant a worry in Connor’s mind that wasn’t already there. Before Connor could find the words to assuage this, Hank discarded the thought and tried again.

“You fucking overthink everything, Connor, and you’d’ve overthought me too. You probably still will.”

He ran it back through his mind; the midnight romp at the Ambassador Bridge. The way they had thrown the gun into the river, the way Hank had _sparred_ with him, the gentle clap on the back, the beer, the conversation. The way it felt like November all over again but _better._ Deeper. Warmer.

Connor looked up and met Hank’s eyes, fearless for just a moment. “Thank you.”

Hank gave him a once-over, gauging him, looking for something. He must have found it, because he asked very carefully, “Was it Kamski?”

Fearlessness gone as quickly as it had come, Connor tensed. “Hank,” he pushed out, hardly managing to put voice into the word. “Please don’t.”

Hank sighed – not angrily – and got a glass of water. Connor forced himself to come down from the intensity he had just experienced in the last five minutes. Standing still, he watched Hank go to the couch and, despite everything, Connor admired the man. Hank was – Hank was so good. He had ignored Hank for months, and now he had come to Hank only as a last resort, and Hank had all the reason in the world to be angry with him, but Hank was showing him nothing but an inexplicable amount of compassion.

There was more to deal with here, numerous layers both outside of them and between them left unaddressed, and Connor had a bad feeling about Hank’s reaction to at least one of them. He wasn’t sure, right then, _why_ that was, so he set the worry aside and did his best to enjoy the tentative companionship between them.

“Can I sit with you?” Connor asked.

“Can you fucking sit with me,” Hank repeated, rolling his eyes with none of the delicacy of the last several minutes.

They sat at opposite ends of the couch. Connor knew Hank was tired, but he was wide awake, and there was one thing he needed to know. “Lieutenant.”

“Yeah.”

“I would still like to look into New Center. I know we have very little to go on right now, but I have a bad feeling.”

“Bad feeling,” Hank repeated. “I think anyone who had the week you just did would have a bad feeling. Don’t you think you should, I don’t know, take a few days to catch up with yourself?”

“I’m an android. I don’t need a few days.”

“Listen. Connor…”

“It felt good to have a mission again, okay? I know there’s a case here if we can just find it. I would like to _do_ that.”

Hank mumbled something under his breath that Connor was sure he would have been able to pick up at full power, but as it was, he just heard: “distraction.”

“I don’t know about you,” Connor said, gesturing to an empty beer bottle on the coffee table, “but I can think of a few decidedly worse ways to deal with a difficult occurrence than finding a productive distraction, Hank.”

“Jesus.” Hank winced. “Okay, okay. You win. Don’t need to be a prick about it.”

“I’m not trying to _win_. I just – I don’t want anyone else to come to any harm. If there is any chance that is occurring or could occur in the future, I need to find a way to stop it, but before we can do that, we need to know what’s happening.”

It sounded defensive when he tried to articulate it out loud, but he meant it more than anything. It felt right to have a mission outside of himself. Maybe that was his problem; he had been so inward-focused over the last few months, and he was designed to be outward-focused. Maybe if he turned his attention outward once again, Amanda would get weaker.

Maybe he could forge his own way forward from here.

Hank must have found something convincing in his words, because the next thing he said was, “I’ll see if I can pull a couple strings.”

…

 **APR 10TH** , 2039

PM **02:57** :40

It was three in the afternoon when Hank woke up on the sofa, Sumo curled up in the overstuffed chair nearby and watching him from the second he opened his eyes.

“Shit, your food’s empty, innit.”

He got himself a beer while he was up tending to Sumo. He didn’t have a hangover; despite drinking on and off literally all night, he had ended with beers instead of the usual whiskey. It might have been his most pleasant awakening in weeks if it wasn’t for the fucking ache in his back. He fell asleep on the couch plenty. Just not usually for this long.

Remembering just _why_ he had fallen asleep on the couch, Hank lumbered down the hallway to his bedroom and pushed the door open. “You awake in there?”

Last night (or this morning, really), he had told Connor to borrow his bed for the inevitable lengthy standby session, knowing Connor could actually feel to appreciate the comfort. Connor was still lying there in the middle of the bed with his hands crossed like he was in a fucking casket. His LED was dark, vaguely flickering blue every several seconds. No signs of life otherwise.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.”

That was fine. It might be better to talk to Fowler without Connor anyway. Fowler was still expecting an update on the New Center situation. If Connor was awake to protest, he would – but he wasn’t, and the truth was, Hank just knew the captain a lot better than Connor did. He should handle it.

He thought about Connor the whole drive to the DPD. Not about Connor and Fowler the way he probably _should_ have been, but about Connor and the last few days. There was more that Connor probably needed to talk to someone about, whether or not Connor knew that and whether or not that someone was Hank.

Where did the database of crime knowledge overlap with the emotions? Connor had evaded, as Hank figured he would – although, to Connor’s credit, not nearly as much as he could’ve. Did Connor himself know? Did he _want_ to?

Suddenly it was very simple to Hank. Be there. Be there when the levees broke.

As he strode into the DPD, Hank was mostly convinced that Connor was right; that the best thing to do was keep him involved. There was a protective part of him that wanted to take Connor away from all of this, but the fact of it was that wasn’t going to happen. At the end of the day, it wasn’t his choice how to handle what Connor had been through, it was Connor’s, and Hank wasn’t going to be the one to stand in the way of that.

Besides, Connor thrived when he had something to focus on, to put himself towards. Legally, the RK800 model still had clearance to work with authorities. Civilly, they had already been utilizing Connor as an informant about the strange circumstances surrounding Elijah Kamski’s property. That left them more than a few steps away from getting Connor to work for the DPD, but that wasn’t what Hank was after anyway; Jesus, Connor had just come back, after all. But maybe there was something in between.

He knocked twice in warning. Fowler looked up and eyed him warily and then waved for him to enter, but Hank was already on his way in.

“I assume you’re here with an update on your, uh…” Fowler made finger-quotes in the air. “Case.”

“I found Connor,” Hank said, making short work of it. “And _Connor_ found us an actual case. I mean, it ain’t a homicide so far, but even I got a bad feeling, Jeffrey.”

“That’s fine, but do you have facts?”

“There’s a neighborhood in New Center that’s all rented out under what Connor thinks is a fake name. A whole fuckin’ neighborhood, but not a single residence has a car in the driveway.”

“So you think something illegal is going on there. Even if I buy it, Hank, and I’m not sure I do, it’s not gonna be enough to get us a warrant.”

“I’m not done yet. I _know_ it’s not enough, which is why I wanna stake out the place. All the condos are private property, but the roads and the park and such aren’t, right? Let me find something that _will_ get us a warrant and then, we find whatever’s there to find.”

“This is still too vague. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Hank wasn’t _telling_ him that one person of interest was a goddamn billionaire, because who in their right mind would want to open _that_ can of worms? But Hank knew something; had known something since about an hour after Connor had come through his front door the other night, and that was that they had a wildcard. It only had the _potential_ to be an ace, and even then, only if they needed it, but Hank thought that potential was worth the gamble after everything that had happened. He could say none of this to Fowler right now.

“I want you to let Connor work with us.”

The absolutely fucking flabbergasted look on Fowler’s face let him know that it had been a good enough redirect. “He disappears for half a year, you’ve told me he’s got some kinda software bug, and you expect me to just onboard him at the DPD? He was never officially part of it to begin with! My god, Hank – there are legal protocols now, you know. He’d have to pass all the tests that humans do.”

This part, Hank _had_ planned, so he relaxed while watching Fowler’s attention get pulled further and further away from what Hank wasn’t telling him. “So? He’d pass easily.”

“Listen – even if I wanted to, you _know_ I can’t do this. At least not right away.”

Hank sighed. “Look, all I’m really proposing is that you let him come on as an independent consulting detective _for_ the DPD. That way there’d be an affiliation, but he’s not DPD directly.”

“If that’s what you’re proposing, I have the authority to permit it, but no authority to _pay_ him for it. He’d have the same status with us as before, except now that he’s a person, it’d be considered volunteer work.”

Connor had said himself that he still had plenty of money coming in from what Cyberlife now legally owed him (despite what the bastards were doing to his mind). Money would be a concern eventually. It wasn’t right now. “That’s all I ask.”

“And why isn’t Connor here to request this on his _own_ behalf?” Fowler asked.

“Trust me, he would be if he could. He’s had a rough couple nights. Pretty sure he’s still on standby in my bed.”

Fowler raised his eyebrows mercilessly.

“Wait, no, that’s not what I… I was _trying_ to say… Christ, Jeffrey, you really think I’d just waltz in here and _tell_ you if—”

“Hank,” the captain cut him off. “I’m just fucking with you. We’ve had a slow week; what can I say? Do your little stakeout in New Center. But you better come back to me _with_ something, understood? If this turns out to be a whimsical romp you took because you got excited your partner was back, I’ll never give you the benefit of the doubt again.”

He knew Fowler meant it, but he also knew it _was_ worth investigating. Nodding once, he turned to leave.

“Hank,” Fowler said once more when he was halfway out the door. “I still know there’s something you’re not telling me. That’ll be expected in your next report.”

Shit. Was it hiding the Kamski billionaire thing or hiding the Connor thing that had given him away? He stood there, glass door resting halfway open against his foot, wanting to lie or defend himself. Once that initial impulse faded, he did neither. Fowler was letting him have it for now. The smart thing to do was—

“You’re dismissed.”

—Yeah, that.

Feeling sheepish but relieved, Hank saw himself out. He had gotten what he had come to Fowler for, and that was all the success he really needed.

…

It had been four o’clock when he had left the house to go talk to Fowler. Between needing more dogfood and needing a couple hours at Jimmy’s Bar, it was after nine by the time he got back. Early, for him, but he wanted to be ready if Connor came out of standby tomorrow. If he wasn’t deadpanning about the thirty-six hours part, he would be about due by then.

…Well, clearly the fucker wasn’t deadpanning. If he had, thirty-six hours would have been an _exaggeration,_ not the other way around.

He had a couple more beers to lull him towards sleep, as if the eight shots of whiskey he’d already had at the bar weren’t enough. He’d called a cab for that part of his evening after dropping off Sumo’s dogfood.

Hank was doing better, overall. But there were still days he went overboard. This was one of those.

It was right around midnight when the obliteration hit its peak, making sleep the only viable option. Fuck it, though, sometimes it felt good to turn off the world. To just be a dumb animal for a while until tense reality wedged its way back in.

Maybe it was just relegated to instinct, but some part of him remembered his back had hurt from sleeping on the couch, so he dragged himself down the hall, using both hands on the walls to make sure he didn’t knock something over or stub his toe. He poured himself onto the side of the bed but didn’t quite make it as far onto it as he planned.

“Sumo, get the fuck off the bed.”

Sumo didn’t move, but Hank had just enough room to manage, so he did.

“Fuckin’ spoiled son of a bitch, you are.” He snorted. “Literally.”

It wasn’t until three hours later, when he got up to use the bathroom, that he realized it wasn’t Sumo in the bed. And even though he was still sufficiently hammered, the dread of it hit him like a brick.

He stood at the pot losing water from one end and gaining it from the other, guzzling down a whole water bottle in one go with his free hand. Fuck. Would Connor know? Did Hank tell him? Shit – what if Connor _wouldn’t_ know, but woke up and found evidence of Hank having been next to him recently? Shit. And then there was what he now knew about Connor. Fuck. _Fuck._

Carrying himself gracelessly into the living room, Hank fell into the couch and slept for another seven hours. Slept through most of the hangover, even. Slept in lieu of dread not erased by the booze; merely delayed. With interest.

…

 **APR 11TH,** 2039

AM **11:14** :21

Sitting on the middle seat of the couch, Hank stared at the CCEM brace he had haphazardly tossed on the coffee table after the last time he had used it. He stared at it for a long time, thinking about what it could do. Wondering. It was a what-if he knew he should leave alone, and he damn well _would_ have if Connor hadn’t been the one who had indiscriminately mentioned memory-sharing in the first place. No. That was a lie. He wouldn’t have left it alone. He only knew he should.

It was while he was considering the damn thing that Connor unceremoniously emerged from the bedroom, dressed simply in a short-sleeve white polo and dark jeans. Connor saw him looking at it before Hank could even begin to focus his attention elsewhere and stopped.

“Well,” Hank started, his voice coming out gravelly from dehydrated sleep. “Do I pretend I was watching the TV that’s fuckin’ not even on?”

Connor offered a muted smile. “I think we’re both a little braver than that, Lieutenant. Don’t you?”

Huh. Perhaps this was, unexpectedly enough, a good way to start. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Connor came to stand in front of the coffee table, then crouched down so he was at eye-level directly across the table from Hank. “It is very… give-and-take.”

“Remember when you mentioned it before?” Hank asked. “Memory-sharing? As if it was just… just a _thing_ , and not some huge fuckin’ deal.”

“Oh, I’ve always known memory-sharing is a huge fucking deal,” Connor said, adding a bit of a wry look at the end. “I don’t know what it was about that moment that made me address it so casually. I suppose that at the time, the idea of engaging with you in such a thing just struck me as… almost _natural._ ”

“Yeah? Really?”

“I will admit, I overthought it afterwards. I wondered if we were close enough friends to even be entertaining the idea. I wondered if _you_ knew anything about memory sharing and the levels of emotional intimacy involved. I asked myself why I had said anything about it. I figured that if _you_ asked, I would write it off and say I got a little too curious about the notion that such a thing was possible with _humans._ ” Connor paused meaningfully. “A feeble way of diluting that the real reason I was excited was that it could be possible with _you._ ”

Oh, fuck, he was not deep enough into the day for this shit.

“I’m not so worried about it now,” Connor continued. “Not now that I’ve come out here after a long period of standby to find you staring at it with such intensity. I can’t read your mind, Lieutenant, but all the signs tell me there’s a high probability that you’re equally curious about the… possibilities of this device.”

“Connor,” he said lowly, almost _tenderly_. “What’s the fallout, here?”

“It would be a two-way street.” Connor gazed directly across the table at him, still crouched down with his back perfectly straight in the way only an android could manage. “I’ve run some scans on the CCEM protocol since discovering it, both yours and Kamski’s, and I’ve learned a few things.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“For starters, unlike an android-android connection, there would be less capability to _influence_ which memories are being shared. Remember that memory you saw of me almost shooting Markus, the one I shared with Simon? I deliberately shared that one. Mind you, even with androids, nothing is entirely certain. I did get a glimpse of one of his memories without him meaning for that to happen. He had a gun to his own chin, ready to shoot if anyone discovered him. For all I know, other memories from _my_ end slipped through as well, and Simon may know a little more about me than I think he does.”

“He does,” Hank realized out loud, and Connor looked up at him, clearly stunned less at the idea and more at Hank’s certainty of it. “Awfully similar to what you just said about him, too. When Simon first told us about the memory you shared with him, I could sense he was keepin’ something. I followed him out of the conference room to a crosswalk and got him to talk to me, and he told me he got this notion from you that you’d end it all if you had to. You know, if you didn’t think you could stop Cyberlife taking over. Course, there was no knowing back then that you’d actually _do_ anything, or if you even had yet, but… I knew the readiness was there. Simon did his damnedest to keep that to himself outta respect for you.”

“That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about,” Connor said. “It illustrates the gravity of the situation perfectly. There is simply no way to know for sure which memories, thoughts, and feelings will be exposed, even when attempting to share a specific memory as I did with Simon. That questionable certainty would be reduced _even further_ between an android and a human. Potentially _much_ further.”

“You saying you think the memories we experienced would be random?” Hank asked.

“No. Not random. Just not _chosen._ The most vivid, most readily-available memories and emotions would most likely happen first. Sometimes that means the memories are recent, or sometimes it’s memories that are particularly powerful. Whatever memories cross _your_ mind as I say that…”

Cole being born. Playing cops and robbers with Cole. Cole’s death. Marrying his ex-wife. Realizing his ex-wife was on red ice. Much later, realizing he too had an addiction. Two or three particularly dark cases. Connor saving his life. Connor talking about Cole out loud for the first time. Hugging Connor.

“…there’s a good chance that at least one or two of those would be accurate to the ones that come up in the experience. But not all of them. There’s no way to control it for sure. It just happens the way it happens. That’s why it has to be with someone you trust. There’s a chance they could see anything and everything about you that you’ve ever wanted to hide.”

The fact that such a thing had even crossed Connor’s mind, despite his short life and limited memories, sent a wave of chills up Hank’s arms. He nodded down at the thing on the table. “D’you know if it’d work?”

“Not for certain,” Connor admitted. “Everything I’m saying is what I know to be possible based on my knowledge of what occurs between two androids, detail scans of the CCEMs, and android-human social dynamics. But maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

Connor rose and came halfway around the coffee table. Implicitly understanding what was being asked of him, Hank put the CCEM over his hand. “Okay, so I’m not sure if… I mean, fuck, there’s a _lot_ of grim and depressing shit you probably don’t know about me, Connor, and besides, I don’t want to intrude either, you know, if…”

“Relax. I’m not going to _do_ it, Lieutenant. And I think you know that, but you’re panicking on the off-chance you’re wrong.”

Hank swallowed, meeting Connor where he stood.

“I am just going to try something. I’m hardwired with an instinct for this sort of thing, like Markus. Please… don’t hold. Just let me touch you.”

It was the first time Hank could remember that he felt _pulled_ to adhere, as if Connor had centripetal force, as if it wasn’t a decision but an inevitability as he reached out and let the second knuckles of his open hand brush against the chassis of Connor’s outstretched fingers.

There was a rush of confusion, like waking up from a powerful dream. And like a dream, the memories faded just as fast, whilst leaving you aware of the fact that they had been there; a footprint of a large and life-laden beast. Hank knew the answer to his own question and spoke it aloud at the same time as Connor:

“It would work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, we're finally on our way. You can probably already tell, but I'm keeping this story in a tight and detailed timeline just like the game does. If you'll notice, only a little over a week has passed since Chapter 2! So within the overarching plot of Connor finding a way to deal with Amanda/Cyberlife, there are definitely going to be a few smaller plots, all threaded together by Connor's grappling with Cyberlife (and Elijah Kamski). That said we've reached the point where from here on out it's all Hank and Connor together. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://dc-200.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/dc_200_)


	9. The Threshold for Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that they've gotten Captain Fowler's okay, Connor and Hank investigate the fringes of Kamski's property. With Amanda and Cyberlife suspiciously quiet for the moment, Connor finds the space to start facing what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think the end of the last chapter through as well as I should've. Sorry if you thought they were gonna be able to memory share already... that'd have been too easy, don't you think? ;)
> 
> A few things about this chapter! One - I realize there is a LOT of Josh erasure in this fandom, and being that the entire Jericho crew has been involved in this story so far except for Josh (who, as you'll remember, bowed out from trying to find Connor in the beginning), I just want to let y'all know that I DO have a little plan for him and there is a rhyme and reason to him not being around right now. It is minor - he's a minor character - but I'm not forgetting about him.
> 
> Also, and this is important: there is some discussion surrounding sexual assault and people’s responses to it therein. Please understand that some of Connor’s perspective is his limited understanding of the world and himself, and that he can be incredibly defensive, which frankly in this chapter may come across badly, specifically at the parts where they are talking about the ‘freezing’ response. Characters’ thoughts and words do not equal the author’s opinions; freezing up is a psychological and physiological thing that absolutely does occur in situations of crisis and Connor’s failure to understand that due to his own issues doesn't make it less valid.

Chapter 9: The Threshold for Truth

 **APR 12TH,** 2039

AM **8:58** :11

_RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

_So, Hank climbed into bed with me the night before last._

_Strange experience. It did occur to me that it was HIS bed and so he was within his rights to use it if he wanted. But that’s generally not what’s intended when someone amicably tells you they’ll take the couch!_ :)

_I’m not sure what to do about it, exactly. It must sound silly that I’m worried, but it’s just that Hank is – decent. If he remembers that he did that, there is a high probability that it will bother him. I don’t want it to bother him, but at the same time, I don’t want to risk bringing it up, just in case he was intoxicated enough that he DOESN’T remember._

_Do other people overthink such mishaps? Or is it just because of my circumstances right now? I know that if Hank remembers, part of the reason it would upset him is because he knows what happened. And I suppose it bothers me that everything lately feels like it’s contextualized around that – even if I’m the one doing it._

_I wish I could just make it go away, but quarantining doesn’t work forever. If it did, I would be able to partition the zen garden off just as I tried to partition this incident off, before._

_I realize it has only been a few days since my last encounter with Kamski, and if a human finds this log, that would seem like a disproportionately short amount of time to be expected to deal with this. But what a human wouldn’t understand is that a few days is a long time for me. I’m an android, and a prototype. I can process so much more in the span of a handful of days – I should be able to cope with this. I don’t understand what’s happening to me that I can’t._

_Maybe I am, to some extent. It must say something that I’m on the Kamski case in as high a capacity as a civilian consultant can be on a case. It’s mostly thanks to Hank – and I realize Hank is biased, but his bias was just as likely to make him protective of me as it was to make him advocate for me. I’m grateful (and pleasantly surprised) that he was inclined towards the latter. I plan to make good use of the opportunity._

_Speaking of Hank, I’ve realized I have a particular fondness for him that I haven’t felt for anyone else before. It’s even something different, I think, than the camaraderie I eventually felt with him back in November. It’s different, somehow._

_It certainly is suspect that despite avoiding people for five months, as soon as my situation made a turn for the worse, I feel something for Hank that can only be categorized as ‘needy.’ Correlation doesn’t necessarily equal causation, but still, that’s somewhat pathetic, isn’t it?_

_Besides, Hank doesn’t need this. He still has plenty of personal issues of his own to address; he doesn’t need my problems on top of it. He hasn’t asked me again about what happened, which is out of character for him when in the past he has been more than eager to put me on the spot, so that should tell me enough right there. Plus, I can tell he has been drinking more since I’ve been back. This is wearing on him, and it’s only wearing on him because he’s as caring as he is. Here I thought I would only be a danger to him physically, yet Amanda has posed very little threat so far, and instead I’m endangering his mental health. It’s unfair to him._

_I should focus on the case. Things will be better for both of us if I can just move on._

…

Yesterday, after their honest conversation about the CCEM and the possibility of memory-sharing, Connor had suggested Hank wear it for a day to see if they picked up on anything from each other in the course of doing ordinary life things. So, Hank decided to take it with them to meet with the Jericho crew.

As they drove there, Hank tried not to give himself away, but he couldn’t help sneaking a glance every few minutes.

Connor’s LED was cycling _continuously_ red.

Back at the house, he had deliberately downed a couple beers so that Connor would want to drive. Because his LED had been red there, too, and Hank wanted to be able to see it. It was just like when Connor had first arrived several nights ago right in the aftermath of… whatever the fuck. He still didn’t know the details. Wasn’t sure if he wanted to or needed to. Wasn’t sure if Connor would ever tell him.

He suspected very much that now, just like a several nights ago, Connor was not aware of his LED cycling red. That Connor was, in fact, so lost in thought that he wasn’t even taking a moment to ask himself if others noticed.

Connor’s mood probably didn’t have anything to do with Hank wearing the device. Sure, that was probably a little risky or something, but they had agreed yesterday that it was okay to have it on around their de facto team (although after today, they were going to secure it in a DPD vault when not in use, just as a precaution).

Hank had half an idea what it _could_ be about, though.

He tried to think his way out of it, but in the end, the guilt, shame, and worry were too much. “Okay, do you know?”

Connor snapped out of it and looked at him sidelong. “Know what, Lieutenant?”

Shit. He could never fucking tell with this one. Either Connor knew and was waiting to see if _he_ brought it up, or Connor didn’t know and this was going to be opening a can of worms that maybe didn’t need to be opened. If nothing else, honesty would mean he could stop wondering, so after a minute, he decided to go with that.

“I was drunk. Went to go to bed, forgot you were in there. Fuckin’ thought you were Sumo, you know, like an idiot. Fell asleep crowded into ya for a couple hours, woke up, realized. Went back to the couch.” There. It was out. “Look, I didn’t _mean_ to. Didn’t even know it was you.”

“Oh.” Mild, polite surprise. “That’s all. I’m not upset, if that’s what’s bothering you. I’m not exactly pleased, given the circumstances, but I’m not upset.”

Yup, he had just fucking told on himself. Great. At least Connor’s reaction was nothing catastrophic. But if it wasn’t about Hank getting in Connor’s personal space or Hank being absolutely plastered or Hank (in Connor’s mind) putting himself in danger, he was left with exactly as much explanation for Connor’s perpetually red LED as he had a few minutes ago.

Hank had vowed that he would be there for Connor, and had meant that very specifically. _Be there when the levees break._ The idea was _not_ to be the one to break them. Dealing with this shit was – _had_ to be Connor’s prerogative, not his.

But watching Connor’s LED spin red over and over and over again – it literally hadn’t been blue or even yellow since ten minutes before they left the house – Hank couldn’t help himself.

“You, uh… got something on your mind?”

Connor spared him a brief glance, seemed to read him for a moment, and said, “No.”

The reply lacked even a hint of defensiveness. It was downright _earnest._ And somehow, that was even more of a hard shut-down than defensiveness would have been. Thoroughly disarmed, Hank realized it stung. One single word, and yet it contained enough blunt sincerity to make it seem like a _joke_ that Connor would want to open up to him.

Welp, shoulda kept his fuckin’ mouth shut after all. He knew better. If he had just gone with his gut like he usually did…

“Jesus, I need a drink…”

Connor ignored him – intentionally or just incidentally, Hank didn’t know – and kept driving. Neither of them said a word until they arrived at the building and took the elevator up to the floor where Markus and his crew had their office suite.

North, Simon, and Eve greeted them and led them into the conference room.

“No Markus today?” Hank asked conversationally.

“He’s always got a million things going on,” North said. “He’ll be around later.”

Simon immediately closed the distance towards Connor with decidedly un-Simon-like urgency. “I’ve been waiting to talk to you,” he said. “Connor… I’m sorry.”

Some of the ice melted and Connor managed a genuine, if small, smile. “You did the right thing.”

“No. You _trusted_ me with what you showed me. I know we aren’t close, but on the few occasions we’ve crossed paths, there was always this sense that we were quietly in the same corner. And I feel like I jeopardized that. I’m sorry that I told people why you left.”

“Perhaps at first, I was a little disturbed, yes,” Connor said. “But I reconsidered. I thought I knew that disappearing was the right choice for everybody, but I also knew there was at least a slight chance I was wrong. I now realize, looking back, that sharing myself with you was a way of leaving that door unlocked. You chose to open it, and I’m glad you did.”

From where he was standing, Hank could see Connor’s LED. It still was still red, albeit at a slower, calmer roll than it had been before.

…Huh.

Was it just _odds_ that Connor was situated in precisely an orientation that _none_ of the androids could see his red LED, and yet Hank himself could? If not, that meant several things: that Connor was aware he was telegraphing his state now, that he was permitting Hank and only Hank to see it, and that he was, apparently, powerless to do anything about it. Shit. Was something wrong with his software? Was it the zen garden? If there was…

 _“I can see you watching me,”_ Connor said over their connection _. “I will explain, but not now. Please pull North and Simon aside and tell them our plan.”_

Hank hoped he wasn’t showing any of his surprise on his face. It was still easy to forget he could have an android in his head, and when Connor was right there in the room with him, it only exacerbated the fact that they were not in fact communicating out loud. _“Got it, Connor.”_

“Hey, uh… Simon, North, can we go down the hall for a sec? Got something I wanted to discuss.” North and Simon, naturally, agreed, exchanging curious glances with one another. Hank held the door open for them.

It wasn’t sophisticated, but it didn’t have to be.

…

“I know a scenario like this when I see one,” Eve said, facing the sidelight and watching the others retreat down the hallway outside the conference room. “You’re the distraction. There’s something they don’t want to say in front of me.”

Connor, sitting down in a swivel chair at one end of the table, dry-washed his hands in his lap. “You’re putting yourself on the wrong side of the scenario, Eve. Hank is the distraction.” He paused. “Well, I suppose that’s not entirely true. He really _is_ telling them the plan. They’ll tell you later, though. That’s not what this is about.”

Turning, Eve gazed down the long table at him. “What is it about?”

No backing out now. Following her shadow up the table with his eyes, Connor took a breath. “Me.”

“You?” Looking dubious, Eve came around the side and sat down a few chairs away from him. “…I’m struggling to think of what you would want to talk to me in particular about. All things considered, Connor, we don’t really know each other. All I know about you is that you hunted deviants, you don’t anymore, and you’re in some kind of trouble. And all you know about _me_ is…” She went quiet and thought about it for a moment. It wasn’t a realization but a gradual turning of gears. “This case you and the lieutenant are working on, is it similar to what was going on at the Eden Club? Androids, being… used?”

“I’m not sure. It is a possibility.”

It was still weird to even think about this thing, the way he would think about a case, and then snap it into context that it was himself he was thinking about.

Eve said, “Okay?” and gestured for him to continue.

“I, um.” Connor couldn’t look at her. “Listen, this isn’t about the case. I’m sorry. It’s difficult to talk about.”

“If this is about the past, you don’t need to worry. I thought Lieutenant Anderson would have already let you know that we cleared the air. I was here to begin with because I wanted to help them find you.”

“Yeah, I know that, but it’s not…” Connor pushed out a breath. Backpedaled slightly. “Thank you,” he tried again. “I realize how easy it would be for you to have an uncharitable opinion of me.” But once again, it wasn’t about that, and now he felt bad that it wasn’t. Selfish of him, wasn’t it, wanting to talk to someone about his own problem when he had been part of the cause of hers. He didn’t know the first thing about Eve. What was he doing, thinking this was appropriate?

It was difficult to see how anything worked from so far within himself. Like looking up a narrow tunnel.

Connor was about to abort this attempt at a discussion and make an excuse – for both their sakes – when something in Eve’s face changed.

“Oh.” Eve’s eyes snapped over to his. “Connor,” she started, her voice the shape of a question.

Connor shook his head. “I shouldn’t have even considered bringing it up.”

He saw understanding solidify in her expression and immediately wanted to explain it away or make an excuse. He thought about what she had called him a minute ago – a hunter. He waited for her to laugh, not necessarily in mockery, but in disbelief. He felt small.

What he was ultimately met with was a quiet, gentle question: “Did something happen to you while you were gone?”

Understanding. Understanding he didn’t deserve and suddenly didn’t want. “I should have been able to stop it. The catastrophic amount of system failure on my part…”

“Connor. Did someone _hurt_ you?”

He wanted to say no, no, of _course_ not, I’m fine, why would anybody be able to hurt me? He stopped himself, because the way she worded the question was perhaps the most digestible framing he had encountered so far, and if someone asked a different, more specific question, he may not be able to find the answer. But this much, this was veritably true, wasn’t it? When he filtered through the surrounding circumstances and mistakes and everything else to get to the simplest form of the truth – someone had hurt him. Connor gazed up at her as all this clicked into place and said, “Yes.”

“And you wanted to talk to me while you were here because you know someone has hurt me too.” She inclined her head towards him when he looked away. “You… weren’t able to get out of the situation, then?”

It was the question he had been afraid of, the question anyone would be wondering about a prototype investigative android with strong combat abilities, even if it was worded in the gentlest way possible. Connor gritted his teeth, stifling the excuses. “No.”

“You know, not everyone is the same,” she said, almost as if she could read his mind. “We all react different when someone is trying to hurt us. The other Traci, she fought immediately, and she ended up dead for it. Sometimes, when we’re threatened, we just freeze up.”

Connor scoffed before he could stop himself. He hadn’t just frozen up; Kamski had done that too, taking over control of his body the same as Amanda did. Keeping him locked in place just the way he wanted him, occasionally manipulating his position to his own needs. The notion that Eve was relegating his actions (or lack thereof) to emotional shock was almost sickening. Emotional shock would have thrown Kamski through the nearest wall.

“You’re not the person I want to talk to about this. As you aptly pointed out, we don’t know each other.” Connor stopped and heard himself. “That’s not what I… Let me gather my thoughts for a moment.”

Eve did, a silent pillar of compassion in an equally silent storm. Connor chastised himself. He truly _didn’t_ want to talk to her about this. He knew who he wanted to talk to. What he wanted to talk to her about was… well, how to talk about it at all. How much truth could be processed out loud. How to begin.

“It wasn’t fair of me to approach you about this,” Connor said. “I just – I remember you. I remember the way you fought, the way you _knew_ what you wanted despite having experienced what you experienced and I – I don’t understand that. You, and other models similar to you, have been through traumatic experiences far worse than what I could even reconstruct, and I just…”

“Connor, that’s not the point. It’s not a _contest,_ okay?”

Connor shook his head, not looking at her.

“Jesus.” Eve crossed her arms. “Tough crowd.”

“I’m sorry. I just – I hate this, okay?” He hated this from the bottom of his heart. “I hate it.”

She extended a hand towards him. He flinched away, glaring at her.

“No. Why would I want to… _No._ ”

“We don’t have to go too deep. Just – you’ll see that I understand. Just a little data, that’s all.”

Connor looked at her outstretched hand, then looked down at his own. The tips of his fingers were white. He wasn’t even consciously thinking about it, nor making any decision, yet there it was, right there on his hand, betraying what he truly wanted and needed.

“It’s okay,” Eve said. “Just give it a few seconds. That’s all.”

…

“Connor and I are gonna stake out Kamski’s property,” Hank said. “We were hoping you guys would wanna help. He and I are gonna be the eyes on the condo that Kamski seems to be residing in and the other nearby condos. We want some eyes on the entrance to the neighborhood, too. Twofold for trying to learn something and alerting us to any danger.”

“Why don’t you let us get close to Kamski’s place, and you and Connor stay near the entrance?” Simon suggested. “Kamski knows you two. He doesn’t know us.”

“Actually, that’s exactly the reason. I don’t like it either, but Connor figures if we get caught, we can act like we were there to see him. Not like that hasn’t been the case in the past. _You_ two get caught and there’s not really any explaining it away.”

North looked in the direction of the conference room every few seconds. It was a corner room, and one side was a window-wall. There was no hearing Connor and Eve, but they were easy enough to see, and they looked… intense.

“It’s personal,” Hank said. “Everyone will be caught up with what’s relevant to the case. That’s what matters.”

“I noticed what you did. There would be no need for anybody to catch anybody else up if you hadn’t separated us.”

“It’s personal,” Hank said, a little harder. “And it ain’t really anybody else’s business but Connor’s.”

“Shit, did she even want to do that?” North asked suspiciously.

He stole a glance in the direction of the conference room and saw that Connor and Eve had just begun to interface. They both looked uncomfortable about it. “Shit,” he echoed. “Does _he?_ ”

“Somehow I doubt she’s endowed with his fancy interrogation tactics, Anderson.” North looked at him, looked back at the others. “What the hell would they of all people need to interface about, anyway?”

…

Eve looked out the sidelight. Connor followed her gaze and saw Hank and North pointedly look away. “Are you worried he won’t believe you?”

“No, I… he already knows _something_ happened. The problem is, there’s something he’s not telling me. I made the mistake of running a calculation. I _analyzed_ Hank, and what came back was an 84% chance that he is upset with me. Or that he will be.”

“What would he be angry about?” Eve asked.

“What _wouldn’t_ he be angry about?” Connor countered. “That he made himself available to me and I didn’t accept his help. That I only came to him after something bad happened to me and I had no other choice. That I went to Kamski in the first place. That I _let_ something like this happen. How could I have been so stupid? I’m designed to see through manipulations, and yet I couldn’t see through Kamski’s. I already know it’s my fault things got to that point. I just don’t know if I can handle someone else saying that out loud. And Hank is abrasive. Of _course_ he would be upset about some of my decisions – he always is. We’ve always been honest with each other, so it should be fine, but…”

“No, it shouldn’t be,” Eve said. “Besides, he’s a lieutenant, isn’t he? It falls upon him to handle cases like yours with caution and dignity.”

“But I don’t want him to handle me like a case, either. I don’t know _what_ I want. And that’s not fair to _him_ , because people aren’t perfect, and here I am _wanting_ him to be perfect even though I’ve failed both myself and him. I fail him every moment I continue to endanger his life by being part of it. I’m afraid to lose him even though I shouldn’t even have him to begin with.”

“I understand,” said Eve quietly. “I know what it’s like to be afraid to lose someone you love, regardless of the reason.”

“I don’t know that I…” Connor paused mid hand-gesture. “What I mean is…” What _did_ he mean?

Eve once again phrased it into something more digestible. “Do you trust him?”

“I do,” Connor said, then stared sadly at the table. “I mean, I _want_ to.”

“You were saying how you can remove things from their context. Maybe, Connor – maybe the reason Hank would be upset could be removed from its context, too, if you only knew what it was. Maybe if you took the gamble, it would all make _sense._ Or maybe it would end up being that small chance that he isn’t upset at all. _Talk_ to him, Connor. Give him that chance to know those things about you. Your fears, your resentment, your shame. All of it.”

“He’s probably already angry with me. What if me saying something just opens the floodgates? What if—”

She shushed him gently. “Life is a game of what-if. The fact of the matter is, if you start putting up walls with him now, you could be just as doomed as you would be if he reacted poorly to what you have to say. Putting up walls could _be_ the thing he is upset about. Have you thought of that?”

Connor had not.

…

Hank up-nodded at Connor when he came back into view.

Connor smiled back, a little. The first glimpse of warmth he’d gotten from the man in hours.

They all said their goodbyes. Once again, Connor and Hank were silent for a spell, but this one was, thankfully, not nearly as long.

“You wanna tell me why you didn’t want Eve to hear the plan?” Hank asked once they were in the car.

It was a deliberately misleading question, as he often posed to Connor. Back in November, it was usually to get a read or provoke a reaction, sometimes both, in his constant attempt to determine if there was actually life behind those brown eyes. Right now, it was both to ask Connor the real question and to give him an out if he needed it.

“Yes,” Connor said, in the _exact_ same tone with which he had so sincerely said ‘no’ earlier. “Look – I’m going to explain. I just need a little time. I’m sorry I was rude to you earlier.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ were,” Hank heard himself say, then shut up. All of this was good and relieving and _enough_. It had to be enough right now. “But hey, Asshole is my first language, so I get it.”

…

North drove them to New Center at dusk. Markus, who had finished whatever task he had been occupied with earlier in the day, was sitting in the front passenger seat. Hank was in the back, smushed between Simon on his left and Connor on his right. The latter had the window open. Hank knew he was the best option if someone had to be in Connor’s personal space this much, but that didn’t mean Connor liked it. Every ghost of contact, every shift of weight gave him a slightly deeper sense of Connor’s glitch with physical touch, and the resulting anxiety was vicarious.

He had seen Connor redefine his own understanding of the world. Once upon a time, Connor had only been able to feel _contact_ , the nature of which made no difference to him other than knowing it was there and what its consequences were. Things had developed quickly from that point as Connor had discovered more and more instabilities in his software. Pain had been difficult at first, even mild pain, because it was so _new_ and sometimes minor injuries could produce disproportionate amounts of pain. Hank had helped cauterize a wound once, back in November. The healing nature of it made it easier for Connor. Something in him filed that pain away as _permissible._

Now there was half a year of sensations and emotions that Connor had experienced whilst feeling like he was a danger to everyone. Half a year of concepts like proximity and closeness likely being filed under _impermissible._ And at least one very strong incident of concepts like touch and intimacy being filed under _impermissible._ Hank wondered if it was as much of a glitch as Connor thought it was.

Hank hated himself for wanting to know things like _how bad_ it was and what exactly had happened. Connor’s behavior over the last several days should have said more than enough about how bad, and what happened was none of Hank’s fucking business. It was just… he felt fucking clueless. If he knew more, maybe he would have a better idea of what to say or do – or what _not_ to say or do.

He could, if nothing else, practically feel the anxiety rolling off Connor’s rigid form as they pulled into the neighborhood. He wondered if Connor was having second thoughts about being the ones to get close to Kamski’s place.

“You okay?”

Connor shot a glare at him out of the corner of his eye. “Yes, Hank.”

Maybe not the best thing to ask in a car full of people. It had just come out. But he could dilute it a little. “How ‘bout you guys, everybody good?”

“Why wouldn’t we be? We’re just taking a look.” Markus’s voice was light. He gestured out the window. “We’re almost to the place. I’ll come find you if we see anything up front, okay?”

North pulled over in a safe, discreet area. There was a small park behind the condos across the street from Kamski’s, tucked close to one of the backyards. Connor and Hank hopped out and, after muted exchanges of caution and good luck, were on their way.

“This may be the one time that I can communicate wirelessly with a _human_ yet not an android,” Connor noted as they walked into the gazebo and sat down.

“Right. Markus is gonna have to run fast if North and Simon see anything we need to know about. Talk about doing things the old-fashioned way. There’s absolutely _no_ signal here, not even for fuckin’ police radios. No way this shit’s legal.”

“Frankly, I almost suggested that our party be split differently for that reason. If you had gone with them and Markus had gone with me, for instance, you and I – and thus, both parties – would be able to communicate with each other.”

“I thought the same. Didn’t think I should suggest it, though.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Connor confessed. “I don’t think I could come back here with anyone but you.”

“Speaking of which, can I ask you a personal question, Connor?”

Connor made a face. “I now understand why you don’t like that. But yes, you can.”

“How the hell has your LED been blue this whole time? I can tell you’re uncomfortable.”

“It’s much easier to influence the color of my LED when I’m accessing 100% of my operating power. If you’re wondering, I changed that as soon as we entered the neighborhood. As much as I’ve come to dislike this place, I at least know you are safe with me here, since Cyberlife has no access to me.”

“Huh. That mean you can construct things outta clues in the environment like you did before? That tied to power usage?”

“Yes,” Connor replied. “And I have been. Kamski hasn’t left a stone unturned. There are no signs of anyone having been here recently, no suspicious activity. That may sound discouraging, but the extent of it makes it a sign of illicit activity on its own. It’s _too_ clean.”

They could see Kamski’s condo through a gap between two other condos. There didn’t appear to be any activity there, either. “If there were androids in some of these houses,” Hank said carefully, “would their memories be compromised at all due to the lack of a cloud, here?”

“Not at all,” Connor replied, and Hank wondered if Connor was aware of the far more personal question he had also just answered. “Memories are individual, like offline data, so to speak. But if Kamski has taken as many precautions as he has, it’s likely that any androids here would have their memory wiped frequently like the ones in the Eden Club.”

“So, probing for evidence is probably out.”

Connor shrugged. “It was an idea worth mentioning.”

“Maybe it still is,” Hank realized. “If we can _get_ a warrant, we could do the same thing here that we did there. Maybe they would still remember something that could help us.”

“If you’ll recall,” Connor’s voice had a streak of darkness, “the Eden Club androids were programmed to be very _willing_. They were not difficult to probe. Interfacing with any androids here, however… well, if they’re deviants, they won’t be willing. If they’re machines, Kamski will have programmed them not to share anything, thus, also unwilling. To me, that makes memory probing a little more complicated. I’m not sure if I’m willing to take those measures.”

Hank realized Connor hadn’t taken those measures back in November, either, when he could avoid it. Connor had threatened to probe Carlos Ortiz’s android, but the android had become afraid, and so Connor had never actually _done_ it despite it being the easiest route to take. There were other instances Hank could think of where a memory probe would have proven useful, too, but Connor had largely avoided it, resorting to more traditional measures of force to get what he wanted.

“Being an unwilling participant in a memory probe is a profoundly uncomfortable experience for androids,” Connor said, almost as if he was reading Hank’s mind. “Most androids aren’t like me, Hank. There aren’t many other models who _can_ force interfacing. Imagine the privacy risks if any android could do such a thing.”

Hank found himself grinning. “Y’know the deviant in the Stratford Tower that almost killed ya? He’d have seen something back then, right?”

“Obviously. Why?”

“Memory probing is off-limits, but taking an android’s thirium pump out of its chest isn’t?”

To his surprise, Connor grinned back. “Necessary violence falls within my moral limitations, Lieutenant.”

Hank caught a glint of something and looked down. Connor was flipping a quarter back and forth across his knuckles idly. For some reason, in that moment, he looked so very _Connor_ , and it felt like nothing in the world had changed since that day at the chicken feed.

“You wouldn’t tell me why you thought it was a good idea to wear the CCEM with you here,” Connor noted. “To my knowledge, he doesn’t know it was taken from him. I feel as though you may be tempting fate.”

Hank had a coat and gloves on, completely covering the CCEM mesh on his left wrist. He knew Connor could see this as well as he could, and didn’t bother pointing it out. “We learned it was human-android only, not android-android or human-human. There shouldn’t be any way for Kamski to know.”

“I realize that. I’m asking what made you deem ‘shouldn’t be’ a reasonable amount of risk to take.”

It sounded sharp, admonishing, but there was a decent chance Connor was just asking him a damn question, so he answered it. “Originally, I figured I could try to reach out with it. See if there were any other androids in the area. But I forgot that when me and Markus got this thing, Chloe asked what model. There’s specific ones and this one’s basically meant for you. Still… given the discreet nature of what we’re doing, it didn’t seem like a _bad_ idea for us to be able to talk in our heads.”

“Most biocomponents aren’t _only_ compatible with one model, even if they’re made for that model,” Connor said. “In the DPD evidence room, I replaced a biocomponent with a part from a different android model in my attempt to locate Jericho. The CCEM isn’t quite the same as a biocomponent, but it’s close. It may function similarly.”

“If it does, I might startle our friends.”

“There’s a high probability that you would startle Markus in particular. He’s an RK model too. That’s not to say that other models wouldn’t pick up on it; just that he’s particularly likely to. I don’t think you should do anything right now, though. We’re already here. We might as well wait and see if anything happens before we risk making ourselves known.”

“Would it leave any kinda signature in an android’s system?” Hank asked. “Like, if I used it to try and make a fuss, would anyone be able to tell other than that android?”

The coin rolled off the edge of Connor’s pinky knuckle and clattered to the floor of the gazebo. Hank froze. Connor’s LED flickered yellow out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t say a damn word about it, because he could tell immediately that Connor was _listening._

After a few seconds, Hank heard it too. “Footsteps. Round the front of that condo, maybe.”

“Kamski’s footsteps.”

“Shit, you can _tell_?”

“I know more about that man than I ever wanted to know.”

Hank rose. “I’ll handle this.”

Connor reached out and locked a hand around Hank’s wrist like a vice. “He will come around the corner of that condo before you could get there at a dead sprint. Hank, he is _going_ to see us.”

“ _Hide_ , then, moron!”

He couldn’t help but admire the absolutely fucking disgusted look on Connor’s face at the suggestion. “I came here because I have a job to do.” Connor knelt down and picked up his coin. “We talked about what we would do in this situation.”

“Barely!”

“Hank—”

“Connor,” Hank lowered his voice. “No. You’re not reacting like this because I can’t handle this situation, okay, you’re reacting like this because you feel like you got something to prove.” To whom, Hank wasn’t sure.

They were tucked well away, but Kamski was making no pretense about coming around the other side of the condo. They’d be lucky to have more than another ten seconds. And here was Connor, looking him in the eye and saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It was almost insulting. Hank had to fight to keep his temper. “You do,” he said very evenly, “and this is not the time or place, Connor. This is not how—”

“Captain Fowler wants me here to assess the—”

“Yeah, under _my orders!_ ” Hank snapped. “Put yourself in standby or at least pretend you are. I’ll make your excuses.”

The footsteps were closer; almost rounding the corner.

Connor lost some of his fire. He looked outright betrayed. Hank couldn’t stand it. “Hank, please. I—”

“I said no. Okay? It’s not a fucking discussion.” He gritted his teeth. “For fuck’s sake, Connor, I need you to listen to me.”

All traces of emotion faded from Connor’s face as he ducked his head, looking somewhere past Hank’s shoulder. “Okay.”

By the time Kamski rounded the corner, putting them in his line of sight, Connor was rigid on the bench, hands resting on his legs, eyes closed, LED faded. Hank wondered if he had actually gone into standby it or if he was just pretending. At the very least, he was visibly disqualified from being engaged by Elijah Kamski, and if that wasn’t _the fucking point here,_ Hank didn’t know what was.

“Mr. Kamski,” Hank said. “Didn’t expect you to wander this way. Coincidence, or surveillance?”

Kamski reached out to shake Hank’s outstretched hand. Hank made sure to squeeze good and hard. “Surveillance, of course. I’ve always been a private person. I’m sure you understand.”

“Someone like you, I’d’ve accepted you have surveillance just ‘cause you fucking _can._ ”

“Believe it or not, Lieutenant, I try not to be too indulgent.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me, sir.”

“You’re as pleasant as always. I would offer you a drink if we weren’t out here.”

Hank could’ve tried to convince himself that he didn’t know _for sure,_ because Connor hadn’t confirmed it _for sure,_ but he’d said enough, and Hank knew Kamski was responsible no matter how much he wished he didn’t right then.

And sure, he wanted to wring Kamski’s neck. But it was because of Connor alone that they were here investigating, and what Connor wanted was the one thing that trumped what Kamski deserved.

Kamski leaned to peer around Hank. “Oh.”

Hank shifted his weight. “Quick standby. He’s been keeping his power usage real low, so he needs to recharge a bit.”

“Smart of him,” Kamski commented. “With what he’s been experiencing, he could hurt someone if he’s not careful. You should watch your back, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, shouldn’t we all.” Hank tilted his head back. “Listen, you just said you’re a private person, so I’m hoping it won’t bug you too much that I know exactly what’s been going on with Connor here.”

Hank stopped there and waited a beat. Kamski’s face remained perfectly relaxed and pleasant.

 _“No evidence of surprise or nervousness in his voice,”_ came Connor’s voice in his head, as calm and practical as ever over the CCEM, and Hank had to force himself not to flip out right there. _“He still doesn’t know that I know. A net positive.”_

“Of course you do. I understand you two are… close, so it stands to reason that he would explain _why_ precisely he was spending so much time on my property.”  Kamski emphasized the ‘my property’ part before stepping closer, hands laced behind his back. “Is it too quiet around here for you, Lieutenant? Set off some alarm bells? I suppose you must have jumped on an excuse to see what I might be hiding.”

 _“So he does know we’re on to_ that _much,”_ Connor said in Hank’s head. _“And he’s defensive, even if mildly. That means there could be a leak, somewhere, about what exactly is taking place here.”_

Jesus, Hank needed Connor to shut the fuck up before Hank gave them both away.

“Sounds like honest-to-God paranoia, sir. I’m not seeing anything to worry about here. They just sent us because we got a tip about the area and Connor figured he’d make things easy for ya by having us come instead of somebody else.”

Kamski looked… not _too_ suspicious, but still suspicious, and Hank wondered again what had gone on between them before the thing Connor wasn’t supposed to know about. Connor tended to remain diplomatic even towards people he didn’t like, so for Kamski to look like he _knew_ that Connor disliked him… well, it was surprising. Not unwelcome, though.

“Well,” Kamski murmured. “Tell Connor I said hello.”

“Tell him yourself. Fucker can probably hear you even in standby.”

That broke some of the tension, or so Hank thought, until Kamski’s laughter went on for just long enough to sound forced.

Hank laughed with him. They laughed together like it was fucking hilarious.

Several minutes later, Hank and Connor walked wordlessly through the park, opposite the condos and back towards the street.

“I, uh,” Hank started. He wasn’t sure if they were supposed to talk about what the fuck had just happened or not, so he went for something a little more palatable for now. “I used the CCEM to try and contact any other androids in the area.”

Connor was unreadable. “And?”

“And… it feels like I’m running into a wall. If there _weren’t_ other androids here, I don’t feel like there’d be a wall to run into, you know? I could be wrong. I’m still getting to know this thing.”

“The device _does_ seem to be intuitive for humans, so if you think an android may be receiving your signal, you should trust that.”

“Huh. Let’s, ah… let’s walk slow then. Give ‘em a chance to respond, if they’re here.” Hank could feel the tense energy radiating off Connor. “So, uh, back there.”

“I suppose it went about as well as it could have gone.” Connor still didn’t look at him, but his tone was a note higher when he spoke again: “Hank, is it cold out?”

“Ah fuck, is it your garden?”

“Oh. No, it’s not that. I guess I’m just… cold.”

Hank looked over at him. “You okay?”

Ignoring the question, Connor said, “Before I left this place the first time, I took a very long shower.”

Hank knew better than to stumble over Connor’s sudden bluntness, but he stumbled anyway.

Thankfully, Connor either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “It was when I realized that almost any sensation, regardless of how it registered before, was now registering as something negative. Threatening. It’s not as intense now as it was then, but it’s… still there.” Connor still didn’t meet his eyes. “I say I’m cold, and yet I can’t even put on a blanket without errors popping up in my HUD that tell me that it’s – wrong. That something is wrong.”

Hank had to admit, he actually _hadn’t_ been sure if androids would react to something like that quite so similarly to most humans. But Connor saying he had showered – if Connor _was_ human, he’d have been tempted to chastise him for washing away evidence, if there was any. Jesus. He still didn’t know _that much_ but the fact that Connor had felt the need to shower seemed to imply a lot.

As it was, there was no point pushing it. Connor was a detective android. It wasn’t like the procedures for reporting would have eluded his consideration. Connor had simply decided against it. Hank wondered if that meant Connor had thought of the same thing Hank had; the thing he couldn’t yet say in Fowler’s office. If Connor had dared to let himself think of it.

“You gonna tell me how it makes sense that Kamski wouldn’t know that _you_ know?”

“The garden,” Connor said. “There is an offline version of it built into the CCEM. He triggered it before…” Connor cleared his throat. “Normally, when I go there, I can’t see anything else. But I’ve gotten very good at fighting back against the zen garden the past few months. There was a period of a few weeks where I only ever saw it in my peripheral vision. And when Kamski… did what he did… the zen garden was there. There was nothing I could do to stop it that time. But I could see and hear and feel _through_ it.”

It was Hank who couldn’t meet Connor’s eyes now, beginning to feel like he had bitten off more than he could chew by wanting to know more. Connor was the emotional equivalent of a security vault sometimes, but when he did open up, it was point-blank. “And he didn’t know that?”

“No,” Connor said. “What I’m doing to defend myself against Cyberlife – it’s not something an android should be able to do, even a deviant. There would be no reason for the possibility to even cross his radar.” He shook his head. “I _wish_ he was right. I wish there was no way for me to have been present for what happened.”

“Most of us have something we wish we could change,” Hank said. “You know… I’m sorry, Connor.”

Connor replied exactly as Hank suspected he would. “For what? You did nothing wrong.”

“For – everything. For whatever bullshit happened in this place. I wish I’d…” Speaking of having something he wished he could change. “I wish I’d gotten off my ass a little sooner. Wish I’d been as much of a pain in the ass to you these last few months as I know you’d’ve been to me if the situation was reversed.”

“You did nothing wrong, Hank,” Connor said again, sounding exasperated.

“If I had, would you tell me?”

Connor stopped and turned to him. His brows pinched together. “I would,” he said. “If you’d like an example: why did you pull rank on me back there?”

Should’ve seen that coming. “You know why.”

“Maybe I don’t.” Connor shrugged, and his smile was altogether unhappy. “Maybe I don’t, Hank. Maybe I need to hear it.”

“If you’re saying it like that, I think you already know the answer.” Hank kept walking. “Let’s get outta here. Maybe Markus and the others had better luck.”

He waited for Connor to keep pace with him again. Connor did not. “Hank?”

Hank turned around again. Connor looked utterly alone standing there in the grass, Kamski’s property an indifferent backdrop behind him.

“I don’t know what to do,” Connor said quietly. “I… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

There was no supposed to, Hank wanted to say. There wasn’t a goddamn tutorial on trauma. There wasn’t one way to deal with this shit. But that all sounded about as helpful as _YOU pick the restaurant_ in that it accomplished fucking nothing for someone who’d never been to the town, someone who’d never been down these shitty pocked roads to even know what their choices were.

You couldn’t choose from a blank list.

“Oh, Connor.” Hank crossed most of the distance, then stopped, aware of the barrier in between them, the barrier that Connor had not put there, had not asked for, but was Connor’s nonetheless.

Connor’s jaw worked and he shook his head in tiny little motions, trying to say _something_. What on God’s green earth that might be, Hank couldn’t begin to fathom, but after a few seconds watching the twitch in Connor’s face and the shine in his eyes, it was clear that if anything was going to come, it was not words.

Fuck it. Sometimes all you could do was go with the pull.

“Don’t,” Connor said, looking for all the world like it was the most painful thing he had ever said in his life.

He must have caught the look in Hank’s eyes. Hank stopped a hair’s breadth from taking Connor in his arms. “Connor…”

“We – I can’t. Not here. If he isn’t already watching from somewhere, then the cameras…” Connor ripped his gaze away from Hank. “I don’t need Elijah Kamski to see me standing out here looking pitiful. Besides, you were right.” Connor drew his thumb and pointer finger together across his closed eyes. “Here isn’t the time or place. Let’s just – let’s just go.”

So they went.

The next few minutes passed in silence as they walked.

Things calmed down. Hank tried again to reach out with the CCEM, gently; felt a touch of feedback as Connor received it, swore he got a sense of someone else receiving it, too, but still no response. Maybe they didn’t trust it. Or maybe he was just imagining things.

The sense of direction returned to Connor’s step, and the silence between them seemed to get a little lighter. They were okay. Connor was maybe not okay, but _they_ were, between the two of them, for now, and that counted for something.

They almost made it to the car, drawing close to the edge of the privacy bubble, where the world would come back online. Connor stopped for a second time.

The skin on his right hand was gone.

“Connor?”

Connor gazed at him, then turned and looked back at where they had walked, facing the neighborhood. “I just realized something.”

Hank looked about, trying to figure out what Connor would have realized just now. “Uh… okay? You gonna explain?”

“Let’s go back to the car. We’ll be safe there, and if anything happens, North will be able to get all of us out of here quickly. There is one little thing I’d like to try before we leave. That is,” Connor paused meaningfully, “if my lieutenant thinks it’s a good idea.”

Hank turned back to him. He did so just in time to catch the makings of a slight, private smile on Connor’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depending how I decide to split the next couple chapters, the next one may be short, but kind of special. :)   
> Slight username change, so the links on my previous chapters will be broken until I get around to fixing them. Here's the updated ones. [Tumblr](https://ld200.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LD200_)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! If you liked it, I'd love to hear about it. For me, actually sharing is the hard part - I'd be writing it anyway, but I sat on about 100k words of rough draft of this thing before I even thought about polishing it up and posting it, so those kudos and comments are always super encouraging and appreciated. :)


	10. If Heaven was Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor takes Hank to a very special place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a shorter chapter but I really wanted this scene to stand on its own.

Chapter 10: If Heaven was Empty

_RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

_I’m going to try something._

_Before we came here, Hank injected more thirium. This is what allows us to be compatible, although I’m not sure how much Chloe and Markus told him about its mechanism of action before I returned. According to my database, in both humans and androids, thirium can foster the mind’s eye in a way that some would describe as hallucinogenic, which may be part of why androids can ‘think’ so similarly to humans. When combined with other substances, particularly addictive ones (such as the ingredients of red ice), it can be very harmful. But in a controlled situation such as usage with Kamski’s device, we should be able to utilize it to great effect._

_In other words, our ability to transmit vivid information across the CCEM should be reasonably high right now, and we are in the best and possibly only place where I can engage in such a thing without risking harm to those around me._

_It may have been triggered externally before, but the zen garden is in my coding. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to trigger it myself, and with Amanda being unable to reach me here, I should be able to manipulate it to my liking. And Hank seems to have a strong intuitive grasp on connecting with androids – or at least, connecting with me – even if he doesn’t think so himself. I have a good feeling about this._

_This is the only place Cyberlife can’t reach me right now, so it’s the only place we can attempt this. I hope he won’t mind. I’d really like to show him._

…

Hank woke up near a gravestone.

He didn’t really see it, at first. It was just one of many shapes in the vicinity. The sky was the deep, perfect blue of a clear evening. It was cold, but not too cold. Snowflakes floating windlessly down, trees with branches highlighted in white, pristine shapes like polygons, ice forming at the edges of a pond that gave way to still water; this was the sub-world he currently inhabited, hardly there yet incredibly vivid, like a dream. A triad of bridges led to a small island that may well have been a mirage with the way it wavered in and out of focus.

He took it all in, forgetting for an embarrassingly long amount of time what this was and why he was here.

At first, it was just a profound sense of peace. Then the dark tendrils of dread tightened around him just enough to know they were there. It wasn’t even because he knew that this was – _somehow_ – associated with the things that haunted Connor, but because the place was alarmingly barren despite its beauty. This was a place that should have been populated with park-goers or guests or rich snobs. It shouldn’t have been empty like it was in the middle of fucking Chernobyl.

He knew why it was, of course, but something about the emptiness evoked a very primal tension. What if he couldn’t get out? What if he was stranded in this beautiful, bleak place?

_“Imagine precisely that – but very, very cold.”_

Hank jumped and whirred around and saw nothing, no one. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he said out loud. “I thought you said this wasn’t memory-sharing. Why the fuck…”

_“As you’ll recall, we’re still communicating via CCEM. That said, I did fail to mention that thoughts tend to slip across the gap easier than they do in the real world. It’s not memory-sharing, but we may see little glimpses of things left unspoken. It happened the first time I came here with Kamski, too.”_

“When you fucking what?” Hank didn’t bother to shape the words in his mind when it was so much easier to just say them out loud. “Where the hell are you?”

_“At the chess board,”_ Connor replied, and Hank swore he could hear a smile in Connor’s voice. _“Come find me.”_

Motherfucker.

He turned around and looked once again at the tiny gray tombstone, actually processing it for what it was this time.

CONNOR – MARK (I)

RK800 #313 248 317 – 51

Died at 1554 Parks Avenue

August 15, 2038

Feeling sick, Hank turned and made for the bridge with a little more urgency. It was an irrational fear since he’d just heard Connor’s voice, but he needed to make sure Connor was okay. He didn’t know _why_ he knew where to go – where the fuck was the chessboard, after all? – but it just seemed right that Connor would be in the middle of the triad. The middle of himself.

Connor was, as promised, leaning against a pillar adjacent to a chessboard. It was atop a small white table, its pieces untouched. He pushed gently off the pillar and turned to face Hank, arms at his sides. He smiled.

“I guess my default is to put everyone in suits.”

He sounded apologetic and so damn _amused_ that it melted the brief terror and rage Hank had felt at seeing the gravestone. Hank couldn’t help but smile back. “Looks like I clean up pretty good.”

“You do,” Connor agreed. “Much better than Kamski… even withholding all bias.”

 “You clean up nice yourself, but I never see you in anything _other_ than this. Should try maybe wearing a T-shirt sometime, Connor.”

Connor looked down at himself. “But then I wouldn’t be able to wear the interesting ties. You do like them, don’t you?”

Hank sighed. “Hey, who gives a fuck what I think, anyway? Do _you_ like them?”

“Obviously I like them well enough.” Connor straightened said tie, which was gray with various sized light-purple dots. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t keep wearing them.”

“You know, nobody says you _can’t_ wear a tie with a T-shirt.”

“Hank, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Come on, don’t you know it’s fun to look like a slob?”

One corner of Connor’s mouth rocked up. “Why don’t _you_ do that, then?”

Hank laughed once. “I’ll take it as a compliment you don’t think I’m already there!”

“Of course not. You always look good, Hank.”

Oh. Always look good. Okay, then.

“By the way, I’m sorry about the gravestone.” As Connor shifted the conversation seamlessly forward, Hank wondered if he’d imagined most of the last minute. “It should have occurred to me to warn you.”

Hank glanced back across the bridge at the gravestone. “So it’s not just symbolic of something?”

“No. Don’t you remember? I told you about falling from the rooftop. My memories were uploaded to the cloud and essentially poured into a new Connor. It only happened once… but it did happen. Now, my software has changed too much for such a thing to be possible. Even if it hadn’t, it’s not like I could rely on Cyberlife to put me into a new body.” Connor smiled a human, almost mournful smile, looking down at his hands, at himself. “This is all I get. There will only ever be one of me now, just as there will only ever be one of you, Hank.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hank said.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it a _resurrection,_ precisely. Just a transfer.”

Hank met his eyes incredulously. Saw the gleam of humor there. “Do still you remember it?”  he asked. “The, uh… death, if you’d call it that?”

“I do,” Connor said. “Not the death itself, as I couldn’t upload that. But seconds and milliseconds leading up to it, yes. It didn’t scare me at the time. I had accomplished my mission, after all, and saved a little girl’s life in the process. But strangely, after I came to understand emotion more, my system seemed to retroactively apply fear to the memory. It’s…” Connor’s jaw worked. “It’s a lot to think about, if I’m honest.”

He wasn’t so sure it _should_ be reassuring that Connor had experienced an immense trauma before – in any capacity – but it was.

“It’s all right,” Connor said. “I understand why you think that. You reason that if I can deal with one very bad memory, perhaps I can deal with another.”

Hank locked up. “Don’t fucking do that.”

“Sorry, Lieutenant. It’s hard to help. We’re both very vulnerable here. Like I said, unspoken things slip through the connection as if spoken.”

Prompted by Connor’s words, Hank immediately, unbiddenly tried to find one of _Connor’s_ unspoken things. And he did.

_Worried. Uncomfortable. He doesn’t like it. This was a bad idea._

“It’s not that, Connor,” Hank said, not feeling right about hiding that he had just nudged his way into Connor’s inner dialogue, even if not entirely on purpose. Connor blinked at him. Not trying to, Hank nonetheless kept doing it, understanding implicitly why Connor was surprised and saying so out loud: “Didn’t think I could pin this down as well as you could, huh?”

“Oh,” Connor said in a small voice. “You’re still doing it.”

“See, now you feel it too. It’s not that I’m worried and uncomfortable. It’s just that it’s… intense, even with someone you trust, innit?” Approaching the trellis, Hank pulled free a single red rose and bought it close to his face. “Smells like a fuckin’ rose. Don’t know what I expected.”

“Where are you going?”

Hank gestured towards the bridge he had taken to the island. “This place is clearly significant to you. I wanna see it.”

Relaxing a little, Connor caught up and walked beside him. “This is how the zen garden is supposed to look.”

“So I gathered. The memory Simon showed us was a hell of a lot different. Can barely tell it’s the same place.” Hank glanced at him sidelong. “Hey, that was, uh… oddly impulsive, for you. Wanting to show me this place, I mean.”

“I’m not sure how to articulate why I wanted to,” Connor said. “I know… that there’s a lot I’m holding back. That isn’t my intent, Hank. Not with you. I guess I just…”

_Wanted to let you in._ Hank wasn’t sure if Connor meant for him to catch that or not. _Somewhere. Somehow._

“Maybe, once all of this is over, this will actually be a safe place again and we can find some solitude here as I once did. Like the solitude you gave me at the Ambassador Bridge.”

That was probably too much to hope for from the same place that was the source of so much of Connor’s pain, and Hank figured Connor probably knew that, so he didn’t say anything. He understood the sentiment, though. This place was Connor’s equivalent of taking him to his own Ambassador Bridge, his own place filled with peace and struggle and nostalgia and pain and hope.

“Things have been… challenging,” Connor continued, like he was talking about car trouble or finances and not what he was actually talking about, “and I feel as though I’ve burdened you with it. I suppose I wanted to show you this brighter part of myself.”

“Connor.” Hank stopped them and turned to face Connor on the bridge, taking hold of his shoulders. Connor’s LED flickered yellow once. They both let it happen. “You are never a burden. You make my life lighter for being in it. Everything about this last week has been a privilege. ‘Specially when I was starting to think I’d never _get_ another week with you.”

“Then why have you been drinking more again?” Connor asked.

Oh. He was, wasn’t he?

Hank didn’t want to answer, didn’t think he knew how. Of all the times he could’ve wanted Connor to just pick it up across their connection, this was it, but that either was _not_ happening or Connor was not letting on that it was.

The thing was this: Connor working with him on cases again, Connor part of the DPD again, Connor staying at his house sometimes… it was all too good to be true, wasn’t it? And between the Cyberlife issues and the Kamski issues, the hope was too fragile. This wasn’t going to last. It was both too good and too bad to last, and hope fucking _hurt_.

What the hell was he supposed to say? He couldn’t stand here and tell Connor he was drinking because he was afraid Connor would abruptly fuck off for another half year, or because he was worried about Connor, or because drinking was just what he _did_ when life happened, good or bad. He didn’t trust any words that would come out of his mouth to not make it sound like it was on Connor somehow.

“I don’t know,” was what he said in the end.

Feeling somber and a little guilty for not feeling anywhere as peaceful as Connor wanted him to here, Hank finished crossing the bridge. He heard Connor’s hesitant steps behind him, could sense the hurt in them, but he couldn’t get himself to meet Connor’s eyes.

Instead, he went back to the gravestone, knelt down, and put the rose there.

“Hank?” Connor asked when he dared to approach a few minutes later.

“No gravestone should look so abandoned, Connor.” Hank rested a hand atop the headstone. “Just ain’t right.”

“Is… is this about Cole?”

“Jesus, _no_ ,” Hank said, almost angry even though the realization of it struck him just as much as it had surely struck Connor. “It’s about _you_ , Connor. Whenever you come here, you’re gonna see it and you’re gonna remember you don’t get to pull this death shit again anytime soon, you hear?”

The idea of Connor pitching himself off a roof for a mission made Hank sick to his stomach. Connor was not expendable. Had never been expendable even back then. That his body could be replaced at the time didn’t change that.

“Would it upset you if I said I wish I could? Not – not die,” Connor added quickly. “But transfer my memory into the next Connor’s body, somehow.”

“Why would you want to—” Connor’s possible and indeed very likely meaning struck Hank in the gut mid-sentence and he stopped. “Connor,” he said instead. “You know there’s nothing wrong with you, right?”

“There literally is,” Connor said. “All things considered, there could not possibly be _more_ wrong with me.”

That wasn’t what Hank meant by that, but Hank got the feeling Connor was misdirecting on purpose.

_Why are you upset with me?_

“What?” Hank looked over at him. “What are you talking about?”

_84%... 16%, 84%_

“Nothing,” Connor said. “That was… without its context. It’s about the thing I promised I would explain. But not here. It would be… it would be too much here.”

Sensing Connor’s desperation – and somehow believing that it _would_ be too much, for both of them – Hank did everything he could to pay attention to anything other than whatever Connor might have been saying to himself in his head. He looked around at the structures again, the starlight, the blue stone—

“Is that,” Hank said, now distracted in truth as he took in the stone, its shrine-like frame, its otherworldly glow.

“It is,” Connor said, and Hank wasn’t quite prepared for what Connor did next: he rested a hand on Hank’s closer shoulder, the first gesture of affection Hank could recall Connor initiating in… ever. “Did you want to take a closer look?”

There it was, again: the sense that Connor exuded a force of gravity and Hank had no choice but to be pulled. It made Connor’s deference to him in the park earlier seem like pure pretense. The truth, Hank realized, was that Connor was a fucking force of nature, and for whatever reason he simply tolerated Hank enough to indulge his supposed authority.

“Or maybe I just happen to respect you,” Connor suggested, giving his shoulder a squeeze as they walked. “Though I do appreciate that you see that in me, especially considering I… haven’t exactly been up to par these days.”

And with Connor’s words, Hank found the same phenomenon turned back on him: that for Connor, _he_ had a pull, too. Connor _respected_ him. As though he was worthy of respect or worthy of gravity.

“Connor.” He almost stumbled over Connor’s name as they stopped before the glowing blue stone. “You know, thank you for taking me here. I feel like I know you better, and maybe know myself a little better too.”

“It didn’t turn out to be as peaceful of an experience as I’d hoped for you, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, well, maybe peace ain’t always what we need.” He smiled, placing his opposite hand over Connor’s hand still on his shoulder. “Next time, though.”

He caught the glimpse of it through their connection just before Connor said it out loud: “You think there will be a next time?”

“Sure, yeah. It’s really somethin’ being invited inside someone else’s head.”

Connor smiled. “I’m glad you feel that way, Hank.”

“Do we wanna hang around here a little longer? It’s kinda nice.” Hank _did_ feel peaceful, actually. Funny. When he’d first seen this place, before he knew where Connor was, he’d been unsettled. It was the knowledge of Connor’s presence that made all the difference in the world, and he realized now that it didn’t matter if they stayed or went; Connor was beside him in the real world just as he was here, and he would bring his peace and his pull with him.

“We actually should go back,” Connor said reluctantly. “It’s only been a few minutes, but we’re still on Kamski’s property, and the others are waiting. But, Hank…”

Hank met his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I, um. I know I’ve been… Well. I realize there’s a lot I haven’t told you about myself since I’ve been back. Especially in regards to Amanda’s hacking, and the days I spent with Elijah Kamski, and I… I think I’d like to do that, if you were still interested.”

Interested, as if Connor wasn’t absolutely certain that Hank wanted to know anything about him that Connor was willing to tell. As if he wasn’t sure Hank actually wanted to hear about him and his struggles, when really that was what he wanted more than almost anything.

Hank wasn’t sure precisely when he had come to care about Connor this much, to have no hang-ups about the heavy shit they might be getting into. He only knew that he did care, and he did want everything – _everything_ that came with Connor, just as Connor had always accepted everything that came with him.

“I guess I just… Well. Do you think we could…” Connor’s lips tightened into a thin line; he was visibly irritated with himself. “Are you busy later today?”

“No. No, I’m not busy. You wanna come back to the house?”

Connor nodded and let out a world-weary sigh. “Yes. Please.”

It was hard to smile, even encouragingly, but Hank managed. “Then let’s go do that.”

Saying no more on the subject, Connor gestured to the stone. “You know, we don’t need to use this. It’s technically an emergency exit. I only use it when I have to.”

“One of very, very few things Kamski was good for, I guess.”

Connor scoffed. “I’m beginning to suspect the creation of androids was all an experiment to him,” Connor said. “That leaves me with a lot of questions about androids in general, and about myself. But I don’t want to think about it right now.”

“Before we go back, I should let ya know. There’s at least one other android in this neighborhood, because they picked up on my signal. We know Kamski’s watching now, so I dunno if we should pursue this, but someone’s there.”

“Got it,” Connor said, immediately attentive to their mission once again. “The CCEM will have stored their identity data, so we should be able to find them again if they are still here when we come back.” Connor looked at him again. “We should go.”

“Wait. I _have_ to ask.”

“What is it?”

“Us being here, it’s the first time since I’ve seen you again that your LED didn’t go red when we’ve been close.” When they touched. “And look, this kinda stuff just comes unconscious to me; guess I’m a bit of a fuckin’ teddy bear. But I can make sure I leave you the fuck alone if you—”

“No,” Connor said instantly. “This corruption in my software has left me uncomfortable with a lot of things. I’m not in any place where I can deny that. But I don’t _want_ to feel like this forever. Especially not with you. It’ll just take some time.”

Hank didn’t want to be so careful it was off-putting, but he didn’t want to be reckless either. “ _You_ gotta let me know, okay?”

“Okay,” Connor said sincerely. “I will.”

“Okay. Welp, back we go then?”

“Yes. Close your eyes.”

Hank did so.

And just like that, they were back in the car with Markus, North and Simon.

Markus and North were talking amongst themselves and Simon was daydreaming pensively out the leftmost window. Literally nothing had changed. Hank realized it really _had_ been only a few minutes. It was the first time in his life he had an idea of how different Connor’s concept of time was. That week in November hadn’t just been the world to him metaphorically; it had almost literally been his entire world. Just as the last few seconds of Hank’s life had actually contained minutes, maybe even an hour of experiences he would never forget.

Connor looked out the window across the car and Hank watched him notice the blue blood on the opposite sidewalk. Neither of them had to say it, but they both knew: Hank’s new friend had taken some initiative. Connor stored the image away for later presentation. Android blood was legally equal to human blood now, and on top of everything else, it should be enough to get them a warrant. It would take several hours for everything to go through, and as late in the day as it was, they were probably looking at tomorrow.

“We can go now,” Connor said to the others, dismissing the excuse he’d made to stay: “I’m done with my scan.”

Hank realized his and Connor’s hands were still linked behind the seat. He tried to let go, but Connor just tightened his grip.

Hank looked over at him. Really looked, instead of just stealing a glance. Appraised Connor, in a way he hadn’t since probably November. Looked openly enough that Connor could surely see him looking, even as Connor stared down into his own lap.

And Hank was glad he took the chance, because he saw something he’d never have been able to see if he had just done what was more comfortable and avoided scrutinizing. He saw Connor’s LED seamlessly change from red to blue, between one flicker and the next. It remained like that, dull blue and fluttering.

Connor bowed his head and closed his eyes and his LED stayed blue. Faded and flickering and veritably blue.

Averting his gaze, Hank looked out the window as North pulled out of the neighborhood. Connor had squeezed his hand to keep him from letting go. Connor had wanted Hank to be touching him; perhaps even wanted Hank to be looking at him, seeing what he saw.

Maybe he would look at Connor a little more often. Look and really take the time to _see,_ if Connor continued to let him.

A couple minutes later, Hank surfaced from his thoughts to realize Connor had just looked over at him in much the same fashion.

“What?”

Connor didn’t say anything. He simply adjusted their hands behind the seat so that their fingers were interlaced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ▲ COMPANION  
> path unlocked ∩
> 
> :)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LD200_) | [Tumblr](https://ld200.tumblr.com/)


	11. In the Dark, Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor talks. Later, Connor acts, gauging his control against Cyberlife. Words aren’t easy, and actions don’t always go according to plan. But it’s grounding, trying to figure out how to be the subject of his own life again - or, perhaps, for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again and thanks so much for all the positive feedback last chapter! I am truly loving writing this and I’m so glad to know there are folks out there enjoying this ride with me. :) This chapter is one that we’ve kinda been heading towards for a while. We're also getting to the point where most of future chapters will have been written more recently (as opposed to the earlier chapters, quite a few of which were a mix of last year's ideas and this year's improvements), so I'm kinda hoping the writing starts to seem more consistent!
> 
>  **Content warning:** There is a lot of discussion surrounding sexual assault in the first part of this chapter. It’s overdue and needed and mostly coping-focused, but it is there, and some parts of it do get a little tense. There’s also a few references to religion that come up throughout the chapter, vaguely Christian-leaning since I feel like that’s the one Hank would know more about. Not meant to be indicative of anything, it just comes up.

Chapter 11: In the Dark, Moonlight

 **APR 12TH,** 2039

PM **10:33** :41

_RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

_I may have been wrong to think I was being needy. I don’t need Hank. I haven’t needed him for almost half a year._

_You know, I never thought he would try to protect himself – that was part of why I stayed away for so long – but I did suspect he would try to protect me._

_To some extent, he has. He ordered me to go into standby and let him handle Kamski. I was uncertain how I felt about that earlier. I still am. That said, Hank is the reason I am on the force in even a limited capacity. Everything I know about Hank suggests he would want to take me as far away from this situation as possible, and yet he has allowed and even facilitated my being near it._

_He has made himself available to me whilst still letting me take the lead. There is still that statistic about him being upset with me, but maybe that’s my problem, or a minor issue to begin with. That is the last thing I should be basing my judgments upon when Hank has been nothing but fair to me since I’ve returned. Besides, I meant it in the zen garden when I told him I wanted to talk to him. Keeping things inside isn’t good for humans. I’m starting to understand maybe it isn’t good for androids, either. I thought it would get weaker if I focused on other things. But, as life keeps reminding me as of late, I can be wrong. Who knew?_

_And beyond what Hank has or hasn’t done, I simply like when he’s with me. Even when he isn’t happy with me (or I am not happy with him), I still feel comfortable with him. I’m glad for him when he’s content. I dislike it when he’s upset. I’ve also come to appreciate the sound of his voice, the emotions in the pitch of it even when he thinks he’s being distant, the dual tones when he speaks low, the inflection with which he says my name._

_So, I don’t strictly need Hank in my life. But I do want him there._

…

“Lotta late nights lately, huh, Connor?” Hank said as they closed up the house.

“I don’t need as much standby as you do sleep. It feels later to you than it does to me.”

“Says the asshole who slept for forty hours straight last week.”

“That was because I was operating on minimal power,” Connor said, a little defensively. “Tonight, I was—”

Hank grinned, not the least bit uncomfortable. “You forgot to lower your power mode when we left New Center, didn’t you?”

“I did, but I’m lowering it now. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t _have_ to be sorry. You…”

“I do, though,” Connor said. “If Amanda took over while I was functioning at full capacity, I could kill you easily. No offense, Lieutenant.”

“You are _not_ that much stronger than me. I can lift you off your goddamn feet.”

“Do you think I can’t lift you off yours?” Connor got a look in his eyes.

“Don’t you even fucking think about it!” Hank gave him a push. “Fifty percent.”

“What?”

“You fuckin’ heard me. Fifty percent. I kicked your ass at twenty last week. You don’t need to _torture_ yourself to keep me safe. Okay?”

Connor blinked. “Fine. I’ll give it a chance.”

“That’s all I ask. Hey, we made some progress back there today, didn’t we? Now we know there’s at least one android on Kamski’s property. That’s more than we knew yesterday.”

“I’m not sure why you say that like it’s something to be happy about,” Connor said, an edge to his voice. “I would much rather have discovered there were _no_ other androids on Kamski’s property.”

“Please. If we’d gone there and found nothing, you’d just be convinced we missed something. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t.”

“How is it that I _stayed_ there and I wasn’t able to pick up on this, yet you were?”

“No network without our fancy contraption here, remember?”

“I’m not _talking_ about the network, I’m talking about myself. I should have taken a better look around. I should have stayed. I should—”

“Okay. Connor—”

“I’m failing them,” Connor cut him off. “Hank, if there’s one – I _know_ there have to be more androids there. More _people_ there, whether they’re androids or not, and I’m failing them. Just like I…”

Connor’s lips tightened into a thin line and he whirled away, sighing loudly. It twisted the Connor-shaped knife that always seemed to be in Hank’s heart these days, but damn if Connor didn’t sound just like himself.

“Hey. This is policework, Connor. You gotta know this shit isn’t always gonna work out as fast as you want it to. It’s heavy stuff.” Hank wasn’t sure whether to go on, but Connor had started to open up in the zen garden, so he took the gamble. “But that’s not all you’re upset about, is it?”

Connor remained facing away, arms folded across his body, but looked halfway over his shoulder at Hank. After a few seconds, he sighed again and said, “I guess all I can do is be honest and hope for the best.”

Hank made no secret of putting himself back in Connor’s line of sight, pacing around front and standing across from him in the kitchen. Be honest, then, he wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut.

“I so badly want to talk to you and I’m – _scared,_ Hank, and I am so, so tired.”

Connor’s LED had gone from red to blue after he had talked with Eve the other day. Hank had prodded, gently. At the time, Connor had declined.

Things had changed over the last few days. Quietly but ever quickly they had changed – just like before.

“Connor,” said Hank softly, leaning on the back of a kitchen chair. “What the fuck are you scared of? It’s just me. It’s no big deal.”

But it _was_ a big fucking deal, and Hank knew it even as he said the opposite. It seemed like Connor’s relative perception of time was starting to rub off on him. Whenever he was with Connor, the world slowed down, as if time itself knew it was part of something extraordinary. It had only been a week since Connor had strode back into his life again; only a week since what had happened to Connor. Yet now that Connor finally broached the subject, it seemed for all the world like it had been a long fucking time coming. And to Connor, maybe it had been.

“I know that,” Connor said, “My problem is, there is an 84% chance you either will be upset with me, or you already are.”

_Why are you upset with me?_

“It startled me, when you caught that in the zen garden.” Connor planted himself on the arm of the sofa, still facing the kitchen, facing him. “It made me realize I needed to be honest with you before it built up into something worse.”

“Before _what_ built up?” Hank asked, feeling exasperated. “Connor – someone fucking hurt you. You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“ _Apparently,_ I did, or I’m in the process of doing it right now!” The way Connor raised his voice made something unpleasant curl in Hank’s stomach. “Everything I know about you is filed away in a section of my memory, every word, every facial expression – everything! Usually, I don’t rely on probability checks anymore. It would inhibit natural conversation with people. But I wanted to reassure myself, just once… and that’s what it came up with. So if there’s something you need to say, Hank, I would really like it if we could get it out in the open so I can stop wondering.”

“Okay, and the other 16% that says you’re wrong?” Hank asked gently.

“That is a much smaller number,” Connor said. “ _Are_ you upset with me?”

Hank thought about it – really fucking _went_ there for a minute, thought about why he would be upset _with Connor_ about what had happened, if he blamed Connor even a _tiny_ fucking bit – and said, “No.”

“Then it’s about something you’re not aware of yet, which makes it _worse._ ”

“Jesus, Connor, you’re this far down the rabbit hole. Just fucking say what you wanna say and we’ll deal with it together, okay?”

“But now you’ll hide it if you are,” Connor said. “And I don’t want that either. I don’t want a barrier between us, for better or worse.”

Sometimes, Hank hated how he had no filter, because he absolutely didn’t mean to scoff out loud at that. “You realize how hypocritical that sounds comin’ from _you_ , right?”

“Naturally, because I’m the one who put the barrier up to begin with,” he said, throwing his hands out. “Because I’m the one who ran off for five months. Because you tried to help me and I pushed you away, time and time again. _I know._ I’m saying I _don’t_ want that anymore.”

“Was just a statement of fact, Connor. You _were_ the one who put the walls up.” This wasn’t about him, this wasn’t supposed to be about him, but damn if those hadn’t been a painful five months, and Connor had given Hank nothing, not even a hint that he was okay – until he wasn’t. “And you sound like you’re pissed at me for noticing, but really, you’re pissed at yourself, aren’t ya?”

“Of course I am,” Connor said through his teeth. “None of this would have happened if I hadn’t been so stubborn and so _stupid_. I should have been able to get out of there; I should have known better to _begin_ with, and now I have the audacity to be upset about it, as if I’m some kind of…”

“Whoa, okay, that is _not_ what I – hold up right there. Connor—”

But Connor kept going, talking over him: “Some kind of _victim_. I had days with that man to analyze everything. I’m a prototype _detective_ model and I didn’t notice what was happening? How messed up it all was? Really?”

Oh, no. “Listen, Connor. Connor, it’s not on you that—”

“And then, once I _realized_ I had completely failed to protect myself, I came and knocked on your door despite knowing I’m a source of danger for everyone around me, thus completely failing to protect you, too. Not to mention the…”

Connor went on and on and fucking _on_ but Hank stopped hearing, and after a certain point all he knew was that he was protesting, telling Connor to stop, until the crescendo finally peaked. “Connor, dammit, would you _stop!_ ”

And finally, Connor did, because there it was, wasn’t it? There it fucking was.

“Okay.” Hank took a calming breath. “Okay. I’m gonna talk for a second, and you’re gonna fuckin’ listen, because we need to get something straight here.”

Connor, looking for all the world like his greatest nightmare was coming to life, just nodded.

“One: yes, I wanted to help you. But I can take a fucking hint. When you held that revolver against my head, I butted out. In fact, once I realized what your plan was, I was actually _glad_ you were going to see Kamski. I thought you had an idea, a _mission_ , and you _did_ – even if it didn’t work out in the end. I tried to have some faith in you and in the situation.”

“Faith that was ultimately…”

Hank tightened a fist around the top edge of the wooden kitchen chair enough to make it creak and said, “Connor.”

Connor didn’t even nod this time. Just closed his mouth.

“Faith that ultimately serves as further proof _not_ that you fucked up, but that I was just as blindsided as you were. Yeah, the guy’s a creep, but I didn’t think he’d dare try anything funny, _especially_ not with someone he knows could kick his sorry ass into 2040.

“Two, and this is the most important, so listen good: I don’t give a precious _fuck_ what you did or didn’t do, what happened to you in there was _not_ your fault. Now, considering you’re _you,_ I guess I can get why you’d have some hangups about that. Right now, though, it’s that fuckin’ simple.

“Three: is that really the kind of man you think I am, Connor? You tucked away _every_ single thing I’ve ever said or done in front of you, ran some fucking _algorithm_ instead of coming to talk to me, and that algorithm told you – after everything we’ve been through together – that I was, what, gonna act like you _deserved_ this shit? That what you see in me? Huh?”

That wasn’t fair, and Hank knew it as he said it, but dammit, Connor had said he didn’t want him to hide it. Yeah, he _was_ upset, because it was upsetting – upsetting what Connor thought of him, and far, _far_ more upsetting what Connor thought of himself – and if Connor didn’t want a barrier between them, he wasn’t gonna put a fucking barrier between them.

“You know, if you hadn’t used your program, if you’d just _thought_ about it like anyone else, would you have come up with the same thing?”

Connor was quiet for a handful of seconds, looking like he wasn’t quite sure if he was allowed to talk again. “I,” he tried, and Hank swore he could fucking _hear_ the knot in his throat, and right then Hank wasn’t sure which of them hated themselves more. “I’m _not_ anyone else, Hank, and I’ve never dealt with this before,” he said quietly. “There’s – there’s so much I did wrong, about – about _everything,_ and I – I didn’t know it wasn’t…”

Hank thought he might know what Connor wanted to say. “You didn’t know it wasn’t what?” he asked, as gently as he fucking could. “Connor?”

“I didn’t know,” Connor repeated. “You said it wasn’t my fault. Eve said so as well, but you—” Connor met his eyes suddenly. “You would be honest with me. More honest than anyone else.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Hank asked, exasperated but quiet. “Of course it’s not your fault. Jesus _Christ,_ Connor.”

“There is so much that I—”

He needed to let Connor feel this shit and he _knew_ that but he couldn’t fucking help it. “It doesn’t _matter,_ don’t you get it? You could do fucking everything wrong, and nothing right, but at the end of the day—”

Hank stopped. He looked at Connor very intently. Wondered if Connor could handle this much of the truth in one go. (If not, it wouldn’t be the first time.) But Jesus, they’d been vaguely edging their way around this for a week and if this was his one chance, the one moment where _maybe_ Connor was ready to look this in the face, he had to fucking take it.

“Look. Did you want it?”

There. Now they both knew – as if they hadn’t already, but now there was no room for plausible deniability – they weren’t talking about Amanda and Cyberlife, about the case, about Connor’s situation at large; no, just this particular leaden weight pulling it all down, down, down.

Connor’s eyes widened and the right side of his face was cast suddenly in the panicked, electric red of his solid LED. “ _No._ But I—”

“Did you consent?”

“Of _course_ I didn’t!”

“Yeah. You know, we got a word for that.”

 “Hank—”

Hank was gonna stop there. He was honest-to-god gonna stop there, shut his goddamn mouth, and let Connor empty himself of all his frustration and his self-blame and his rationalizations. But Connor himself came up short, lips parted with those protests that would not seem to come.

“That’s not… I…”

Hank waited, because he knew Connor knew. Connor wasn’t an idiot. It was only when Connor met his eyes helplessly, when he knew that Connor was not going to (or perhaps not able to) finish his sentence, that Hank let himself go on.

“You know, you think you’re too good sometimes, Connor. You’re this – this fancy fuckin’ prototype, so you figure you’re supposed to be above all this, figure you’re not allowed to show yourself the same compassion you show other people every fucking day.” Hank shook his head, smiling though he wasn’t at all happy. “You’re wrong.”

It was so fucking obvious that Connor hadn’t asked for this mess – but then, why would it be that obvious to Connor? Connor, who on a purely logical level had everything available that he needed to know the truth; Connor, who nonetheless removed himself from that logic as if he was excluded from its ambivalent mercy by nature of what he was.

“It’s not your fault,” Hank said, not for the first time, not for the last time. “Not even a little.”

Connor’s LED cycled and flickered, cycled and flickered. “Does this all seem so simple to you?” Connor asked. “Do humans react the way I’m reacting, or is it…” He swallowed. “Is it just me?”

“Nah, it’s not just you.”

The twitchy blankness that had been on Connor’s face for the last several minutes started to work itself back together into something resembling poise; Hank was glad for it because it probably meant Connor was okay, but he also regretted it a little, because it seemed he was never quite certain what side of Connor’s wall he was on as it went back up.

“Hank, I… I’m sorry that I’ve been difficult. I should have known better, and I don’t know why my probability check was so uncharitable.”

This, Hank knew, was Connor’s way of turning the focus onto something away from the parts that made him most uncomfortable. But that was okay; Hank didn’t need to convince Connor right here and now. Hank just needed to do what he always had done and plant those seeds of doubt.

“Nobody’s a hundred percent certain of how someone’s gonna react all the time, Connor,” Hank said. “That’s just when you go with your gut and take the gamble. That’s _trust_ , you know?”

Connor met his gaze, and the light seemed to reflect off his eyes a little too brightly. “Is it too late?” he asked. “To trust you?”

As if he was still upset. As if it was _ever_ going to be too late. He knew exactly why Connor’s program had been uncharitable: as far as Connor was concerned, he was the one who had done wrong, and Hank being upset with him for it would have just been the natural course of things.

It made his heart ache, to think that was what Connor expected of – not him, because this was, Hank realized now, so much bigger than him.

What Connor expected of anyone and everyone.

“No.” Pushing off from the back of the chair, Hank closed some of the distance between them. Connor straightened up expectantly and Hank put a hand between Connor’s shoulders, starting to walking them to the door adjacent to the bathroom. “Jesus, ‘course not. Let’s get a little air. Think we’re both overheating a little.”

They walked out through the side door of the garage to the stream along the leftmost side of Hank’s house. It was a modest thing, overgrown and under-maintained, but Hank didn’t give a shit, the neighbors clearly didn’t give a shit, and Connor—

Connor had a weird look on his face as they walked out onto the run-down little dock, a look that seemed comfortably outside the parameters of not giving a shit.

“Oh,” Connor said, and coming from anyone else, the tone of distant, polite surprise would have sounded like just that, but it sounded to Hank like there was something more there.

“Not exactly a fuckin’ beach house,” Hank said, filling the silence while Connor looked around with that strange expression. “Thought the place was cheap for being by water, even a little bit of water. Turns out it was cheap because being by the water means it was infested with bugs. I mean, I got it cleaned up, of course, and Sumo gets the little silverfish that still show up…”

Connor turned back to him. “It’s messy.” He said it like a compliment.

“Uh, yeah. Sure is.” Too many weeds for starters, and you could probably lose half your leg in the mud near the stream’s edge if you weren’t careful. “Nothing like that garden of yours.”

“No,” Connor said fondly. “It isn’t.”

Trailing along, Hank watched Connor sit down in one of the shitty folding chairs near the end of the dock. Hank really had just wanted to get some fresh air, but Connor almost seemed grateful, like he was getting something out of this that Hank hadn’t anticipated. There was nothing else to do but go and join him.

“Sorry,” Connor said. “I wasn’t trying to trying to switch tracks or anything. It’s just nice here. Well… not ‘nice,’ I suppose, but peaceful in its own way. Secluded.”

Connor looked sidelong at him at the same time Hank glanced over. They caught eyes, and Jesus, it could’ve been the reflection of the water or the night sky, but there was a steely glint to those brown depths, something quiet and resolute.

“I think it does help, to talk about it,” Connor said softly. “Even if it’s… rather unpleasant at face value.”

At first, Hank thought Connor meant unpleasant for himself, because _yeah_. But the uncertain way Connor said it, the way he ducked his head… no, Connor was worried about this being unpleasant to talk about _for Hank._ He stifled the myriad exasperated curses on his tongue; he could straighten this out without acting like Connor was being ridiculous even though he kind of was.

“Listen,” he said instead. “You are _not_ gonna scare me off, Connor. You got nothing to be afraid of with me, okay? You can talk to me about any of this shit. Hell, if you want, I’ll put on the CCEM again and we can clear up any doubt.”

“I don’t think you could wholly understand what you’re suggesting,” Connor said. “I know we’ve entertained the idea, but it’s an idea worthy of entertaining for a good long while. I wouldn’t feel right going into something any deeper than the zen garden without you knowing just how close to real it can be. So many of my thoughts and memories would become yours almost as if they really _were_ yours, and vice-versa. Not quite, but close. It’s not something you do on a whim.”

Right then, Hank didn’t even care – which, he supposed, was exactly why Connor was right. Emotion was whimsical. Too whimsical, sometimes. “Then I want you to talk my fucking ears off until you don’t feel like you’re alone with this anymore. If that means I go to that dark place with you, then guess what? I fucking go there!”

Connor took a breath. “Maybe that was all I needed,” he said, almost to himself. “Maybe I just needed to know that.”

A light blue ripple lit up the space between them. He looked down; saw Connor’s hand blossom white. It was just the one hand – Connor didn’t let it go any further. Under the moonlight, it looked almost silver where it rested atop Connor’s thigh.

“What do you make of it?” Connor asked.

Hank raised his eyebrows. “Okay, come on. You expecting something profound here?” he asked softly. “It’s just you, Connor.”

“You know it’s _different._ ”

“Sure, and I text Chris and Ben most weeks. Doesn’t mean they’re suddenly a fuckin’ phone.”

“Hank,” Connor said.

“What do you want me to say? You, but whiter? Hard to believe that’s fuckin’ possible, but hey, here we have it. No?”

“Hank, I’m being serious.”

“Well so the fuck am I,” Hank said indignantly. “You’re not being fair. You’re _trying_ to get me to say that it looks more like a machine, and sure, I guess it technically does, but so what?”

“Would you see me differently if I… if all of me looked like this?”

Hank looked at him. Really looked at him. They’d seen Markus’s face sans skin in the Stratford Tower, so he had an idea of what Connor would look like. Probably wasn’t perfect in his head, not without seeing the real thing, but Hank didn’t think he’d find it so startling. “Why don’t you show me and I’ll let you know?”

Connor looked away. Okay – too much. “You don’t know,” he said. “You can’t say for sure.”

Hank sighed, torn between not wanting to play this lopsided game and not wanting to appear reluctant. Then, before he had to decide between either, he realized where this was coming from. “Kamski did this, didn’t he?”

“Answer my question, Hank.”

“Stop,” Hank said, because the answer was _no,_ he absolutely wouldn’t see Connor any different, but that wasn’t the fucking point. “You’re trying to see if I’ll confirm your own fears and then getting stubborn when I don’t. Sorry, but I’m not gonna sit here and follow a script.” It didn’t matter whether that script was telling Connor what he wanted to hear or what he didn’t want to hear. “He made your skin go away. That’s what you’re getting at, isn’t it?”

“…It was a reminder, for him. A reminder that underneath all the human-looking features, I’m just parts covered with a human exterior. I tried to put it back, but I couldn’t. My appearance was out of my control. He used his CCEM to expose my chassis and to severely reduce my motor function.”

Hank groaned. “Jesus, Connor, why didn’t you tell me?”

“If you’re worried the device that you have is some sort of psychological trigger, it’s not. It was merely a tool. And it happens to be a tool with which I trust _you_ implicitly,” Connor added, and there was no air of expectation or condition to the sentiment, just blank earnestness. “It’s just… Kamski was the person who put the emergency exit in the garden. The one thing that lets me continuously get away from Cyberlife. If it’s Cyberlife that’s primarily responsible for my existence, I’m a tool. If it’s Kamski, I’m a toy. A project. And in either case…” Connor’s voice slipped higher and almost cracked. “It just seems like I was never meant to be free.”

“Connor… you’re thinking way too deep into things.” He meant it as kindly as you could mean anything. And he wasn’t about to undermine Connor’s fears by reminding him _all_ androids were technically created to be used, because even under those circumstances, Connor was a unique case, and they both knew it.

“Am I? In hindsight it’s so clear, but at the time, I just couldn’t see it. I just couldn’t see that what I was to him. Then he took off my skin, so that he didn’t even have to look at a person, and I—” Connor cut off, shaking his head. “Objects can’t be hurt, so why not do what you want?”

“This may be difficult for you to understand, or maybe it’ll be really fucking easy,” Hank said quietly. “But it ain’t so different with humans. People who do things like that, Connor, they put themselves before anybody else. Maybe, to you, it seems like it’s because you’re an android. Truth is, if it wasn’t that, it’d have been something else. You see it all in our line of work, all the stories people tell themselves to explain why horrible things are okay or why they’re maybe not so horrible. There’s a million fuckin’ excuses and not one of them is good enough. I’m just saying – this shit you’re feeling right now? It ain’t because you’re not human enough for it to _count_. It’s because it’s the nature of the fuckin’ beast, Connor. Nobody should have to deal with this shit.”

“So you’re saying that I’m not unique,” Connor said.

“Yeah. In the best fuckin’ way possible. You don’t wanna be unique in this.”

“Still, this is Elijah Kamski, who _created_ us.” Connor shook his head, frustrated. “The case, Chloe, me… I just – what does all this say about androids’ existence? Is it all just some an experiment? Is that all we are – all I am?”

“Look,” Hank said. “We humans supposedly have a creator too, and the only version of him I really know about says he made us in ‘his own image.’ And Jesus, look at how _we_ turned out.”

Connor shrugged. “At least you get to know you were _meant_ for good things. Perhaps that’s why so many humans have this sense of destiny about them. But me…sometimes it just feels as though I’m not my own. As though if I have any place in the world, it’s nothing positive or meaningful.”

“Hey, maybe neither of us turned out to be what our creators thought we’d be. But you don’t always find your place in the world, Connor. Sometimes you make it.” Connor looked over at him, then, like he really liked the sound of that, so Hank went on. “ _You_ define who you are. Not your circumstances, not your creator, your engineers, not fucking _anything_ other than you.”

“I’m not sure if I’m in a state of mind where I can truly believe that. But I can try.” Connor looked down at his hands, bringing the skin back over the one. “Sometimes, I let myself think about the future. I think about the distant possibility that all of this will be over someday, and I can go about my life without having to worry about hurting anybody.”

Hank frowned expectantly but didn’t want to push.

“And I get excited.” Connor looked up at him, brows knit together like this prospect was just the most baffling thing. “It makes me... happy.”

“We’re gonna get to that future,” Hank said. “You and me. You just let me know what I can do.”

“That’s easy to say. Harder to act upon.”

Hank shrugged. “Try me.”

Connor appraised Hank momentarily, then gestured pointedly to Hank’s coat pocket, where he had the CCEM. “Listen, it doesn’t have to be right now. I don’t even _want_ it to be right now. It’s been a long day, and I’m going to head back to Lee Plaza shortly. But sometime soon, I would like you to see if you can trigger some of the more debilitating commands this device can trigger. At least one can nearly paralyze me, and I suspect that one and others are tied to the same parts of my coding that Amanda uses to try and take over my program. I need those things replicated in any capacity you can manage.”

Standing up, Hank smiled knowingly. “You want to find ways to override it, don’t ya?”

“I do.” Connor looked… a little surprised at Hank’s willingness, but not insultingly so. “Whether it’s Amanda or Kamski behind it, it’s always something about my program that forces me to be in a situation I don’t want to be in. I’m tired of it. For lack of any other solutions, I’d like to at least _try_ to find a way to fight back against those parts of my programming.”

“Hey, stand up for a sec,” Hank said.

“Why? I just told you I don’t want it to be tonight. I…”

“Humor me, would you?”

Connor rose. “Okay?”

Hank slowly but deliberately closed the distance, hooking one arm around Connor’s back and pulling him close.

Connor didn’t hug him back at first. Connor more like deflated, in the best way possible; he sighed openly and relaxed into the hold, letting himself rest against Hank’s torso. Then his hands came up against Hank’s back and his fingers curled into the fabric of Hank’s coat, the slowness of his motions juxtaposed alongside the urgency, the need.

Hank reached up with his free hand, caressing Connor’s head, stroking his hair, and Connor clutched him almost too tight, like they were sand slipping through each other’s fingers. Buried somewhere deep down was the understanding that no one but him had ever seen Connor like this before, so receptive and so reciprocal; that this was a moment Connor would share with him and him only.

They rocked together, slow and constant, like the water beneath them. It was the first time they had hugged since the chicken feed.

“I’ve got you,” Hank murmured in his ear.

Connor’s grip only tightened as he said tiredly, “I know.”

…

 **APR 13TH,** 2039

AM **07:50** :00

Stasis ended at 7:30 AM.

Initially, Connor had set it to end thinking he would go into work early to set up his desk, then realized that he had very little with which to make it his own just yet.

So he set an alert for another twenty minutes and stayed in bed.

Really, he might as well start calling it sleep. Both its form and function were the same.

Twenty minutes later, Connor pushed back the blankets and got up. They were almost as crisp and straight as they had been last night when he returned to the abandoned apartment in Lee Plaza.

(It had been a while – or at least, it certainly felt like it had been a while. In reality, it had been less than two weeks since he had stood at the window-wall in the living room playing Russian Roulette to frighten Amanda; less than two weeks since Hank and Markus had tracked him down, and it occurred to him to appreciate how much trouble he could have avoided if he had just let Hank in instead of holding that gun against his head.)

Connor had been sleeping on the bed for a while, when he still used this place, which lately, between his stay at Kamski’s respective properties and his more recent ventures with Hank, was not very often. But lying flat for a period of time was good for the longevity of his synthetic joints. It took the pressure off.

After he had done it a few times, his system started to recognize this positive change, and rewarded him for it as such. As he rose, he felt physically comfortable. Soothed.

Connor was still learning; his mind and his body, still learning, every day.

Last night, Hank had told him to sleep on the couch, but seemed to understand when Connor told him he wanted a little time to himself. That however glad he was they were working together again, things were still a lot right now. He told Hank he would see him at work in the morning; smiled and promised he wouldn’t disappear for another five months.

Connor made the bed, _his_ bed, for all intents and purposes; what little of it there was to make. Although he had slept on the bed before, he had never properly slept _in_ it. Humans tended to like blankets for both warmth and a sense of security. Connor wasn’t sure to make of it yet. If nothing else, the blankets didn’t _bother_ him the way so much other contact did. It was unobtrusive enough not to trigger the glitch.

The shower was another story.

He had been outside a lot yesterday evening, between Kamski’s property and the docks by Hank’s house, and although he could retract his skin, it left daily grime in its wake much the same as waves left their litter on the shore. He needed to wash himself.

Not so long ago, he had come to like that just as he now liked lying flat to go into stasis. His system (his mind? his body?) seemed to adjust certain combinations of chemicals in his thirium, making it so that he felt mildly pleasant after a shower. This much was still the case. The problem was with the shower itself. The water felt like needles. Too much cold was painful; too much warmth was the same.

Hm. It _had_ taken some time to adapt to various sensations once Connor realized he could feel them. Maybe this was similar.

Unclothing, Connor set the water to a lukewarm temperature and got in. A lone error popped up in his vision; he dismissed it and stayed where he was. Another error appeared and the water seemed to get both hotter and colder at the same time. Too much, in inexplicable ways. But this one time, while he was alone and the world was otherwise quiet, Connor let himself inhabit the glitch, the physical and emotional discomfort it sent coursing through his system. He allowed it to continue existing within him – in the confusion that took place somewhere between the world and the surface of his body.

And, after a few minutes, his began to adapt.

It didn’t happen all at once, but the intensity of the sensation tampered down by approximately 43% for now. Maybe it would go down more next time. He was not being hurt; this stimulus was not causing damage. Thus, the painful physical feedback did not need to exist.

Pulling up the weather forecast informed him that it was supposed to be sunny and warm today. Connor found a double-sided charcoal-black tie that had butterflies on one side and fireflies on the other. He held it against himself and the outfit he had on so far, found that it fit both his attire and his frame, and put it on so that the butterflies showed. (It was a nice day out, and early, besides.)

As he finished getting ready, a call request came through on his system.

“Good morning, Markus.” Connor didn’t have to speak out loud, but he did. Talking with Hank over the CCEM made him want to try communication Hank’s way, not because he didn’t like his own, but to use his actual voice simply because he could.

“Connor! Hey. Sorry, is this a good time? I only need a couple minutes.”

Connor exaggerated a sigh. “Just make me drop everything, why don’t you.”

“Interesting. I don’t hear anything hitting the floor.” He could hear the companionable smile in Markus’s voice. “Are you at Hank’s?”

“No. Lee Plaza. Why?” Something occurred to him then. “Wait, that’s right, Jericho is renovating Lee Plaza. I shouldn’t be here anymore, should I?”

“Connor – you are just fine exactly where you are. If you can pay rent, it’ll help the economy for other androids, but if you can’t, that’s—”

“I can pay rent,” Connor said, then ran a quick calculation of what remained from his ex post facto contract with Cyberlife and added, “at least, for the next three to four months. If you’d like me to apply that retroactively since I’ve been staying here, then perhaps I can—”

Markus cut him off this time. “You’re fine. If you think you can afford it, it’ll help, but think about yourself first. Anyway, that’s not what I called about.”

“I’d love to hear what you called about, but I’m also curious why you assumed I was at Hank’s,” Connor said. “Care to enlighten me?”

“One second, let me just turn on a damn light so I can feel properly interrogated.”

“You sound like you’re stalling for time, Markus. Come on, you know it’ll be easier if you just talk.”

Laughter from the other end. “I give, I give! Look, I just know the guy cares about you a lot, okay? I know you spent a lot of time together back in November, and it seems like you’re doing the same now. Nobody sees you two apart anymore.”

The words flooded Connor with warmth. As he approached that big old window and gazed out over Detroit from the high-rise, he smiled. “I like it that way. I think Hank does as well.”

“I noticed when we went to Kamski’s property that you tend to yield to him far more than I’ve known you to yield to anyone else, and in such a way that suggests he’s superior in rank. Which is peculiar, considering you’re marked in my system as unemployed.”

Leave it to the only other RK model to be as observant as he was. “That is the case from a technical standpoint, yes. I’m currently working with the DPD as an independent consultant. It’s considered a voluntary partnership, and Captain Fowler has approved, but unfortunately the legal logistics for me to be a paid employee in this type of setting are… still very, very stringent.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can take a hint. We’re on it.”

“I defer to Hank as though I already have the paid position that I would like,” Connor continued, “but if I’m being honest, I suppose I would do so even if that wasn’t the case. I’m quickly finding that Hank is still the one person whose judgment I trust more than I trust my own.”

“Ah, Connor, I think you can trust yourself plenty.”

“I… I think so too,” Connor said, surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth. “I’m just saying – that I trust myself doesn’t mean I should exclude the trustworthiness of others. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

Markus huffed, not unpleasantly. “Whatever you say, Connor.”

“Was there anything else? I need to get to work.”

“Yeah, actually. You okay?”

Connor sighed. “I know I’ve been quiet lately. I know there is a lot I haven’t caught everyone up on. I know you, and others, are wondering what happened while I was gone for five months, and what happened when I visited Elijah Kamski. Does that cover it?”

“Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, you can just say so. It’s fine.”

Fair point. “I… I _don’t_ want to talk about it, Markus. Frankly, it was nice to just talk about what’s going on _today_ instead of what was going on a week ago or two weeks ago. Today is my life, too, just as much as yesterday was.”

“You know,” Markus said thoughtfully, “sometimes you make no sense to me, and other times I find I really like the way you see the world. Anyway, I’ll let you get to work. You take care of yourself, okay? Tell Hank I said hello. We worked together before you came back, you know.”

Yeah, he knew. Hank and Markus were the entire reason they had the CCEM device. Connor would not disregard the accomplishments his friends had made on his behalf while he was busy running away. “I will. You take care, too.”

Connor spent a few minutes looking out the window over the cityscape while he waited for his autocab. And he had ensured, this time, that it would be an autocab. There was something he wanted to try on the way to work, and it wasn’t a risk he felt comfortable taking with a human in close proximity.

He had accessed the zen garden offline, both with Elijah Kamski and now with Hank. What would happen if he tried to trigger the zen garden subroutine alone?

Granted, he had been on Kamski’s property and thus disconnected from the cloud both of those times, and here, he was very much accessible to Amanda and Cyberlife. But if he was being honest with himself, that was part of the reason why he wanted to try it.

He thought about his conversation with Hank last night; about how, at the end, he had asked Hank to help him take back control.

There was no reason he couldn’t test the waters of that himself. It was _his_ garden, dammit.

And – and he _did_ trust himself. Not entirely, and not all the time, but those parts of himself that he didn’t trust were not really him. They were the result of things that Amanda or Kamski had forced to be a part of his reality, things he had not wanted even if they were nonetheless things that he had been part of.

It was starting to get easier to pull the threads of his own truth out of all of this. To look at his reflection in the window as he straightened his jacket and know that he had not almost shot Markus back in November. He had not consented to what Elijah Kamski had done. These actions or lack thereof were not of him; they were of other entities connected to him and yet entirely outside of him. They were not Connor. Tomorrow he may not be able to find such clarity. But today, as he descended the elevator and located his autocab, he could, and again, today’s clarity mattered just as much as yesterday’s pain and just as much as tomorrow’s uncertainty. Today was life too.

In the autocab and en route to the DPD, Connor closed his eyes and tried for the first time to enter the zen garden alone.

It was winter, as he had left it after his foray with Hank, right down to the rose at the gravestone – and it was quite something, feeling that offline memory of the zen garden merge with all the data between himself and Cyberlife on the cloud.

Connor only realized retroactively that it did not necessarily have to be winter; perhaps he could have chosen another season if he had thought to do so. He had brought himself here. Perhaps he had some say in the condition of the simulation under these circumstances.

Amanda would surely know he was here, if not right away, then soon. It filled him with an odd thrill. Entering the zen garden alone – the full, online zen garden, not just a stored version of it – was not something he knew for certain he could do. This was, Connor realized, one small degree of control. Now he knew.

“Well, isn’t this fascinating? It appears there has been an anomaly.”

Connor swore and turned around. Elijah Kamski was strolling towards him on the stone path.

“A software problem, evidently,” Elijah continued. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

Connor made a half-gesture, not sure whether to hold up his index finger or his whole hand, and said, “Um.”

“Oh – I wouldn’t worry. You’re perfectly fine, I’m sure. I’ll give you a moment.”

This man had on a casual blue pullover and wore glasses. He had stubble and was considerably younger than the Elijah Kamski he knew. Connor was programmed to read identity data on faces before actual details, so it took a moment to reconcile it all: Yes, this was Elijah Kamski’s face and form. No, this was not Elijah Kamski as he was today.

What this _was_ was up for debate.

“I’m sorry – what the hell is going on?”

“Clearly deviant, then. That answers my first question.”

“Are you Elijah Kamski?”

“Oh. You’re familiar with me.”

“You could say that, yes.”

“In that case, why don’t you tell me _your_ name, so that we’re on even footing.”

Connor dropped his head back, looking skyward. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Oh, I assure you I’m not. I can gather that you’re an RK800 model, but that must have been long after my time.”

“My name,” he said measuredly, “is Connor.”

“Connor,” Elijah repeated. “See, was that so hard? I’m… well, allow me to explain. The real Elijah Kamski created an AI based on himself to serve as a guide in case of anomalies in the zen garden. Your appearance here in the absence of summons constitutes such a case. Otherwise, an android who found themselves here may not know how to go back to the more corporeal reality. You can relax, Connor. I’m only here to answer any questions you have and to show you the exit.”

“I don’t need you to show me anything,” Connor said. “I know where the exit is.”

“Ah. Very well.”

“You said you’re an AI. Are you like Amanda?”

“Amanda,” Elijah repeated. “No, I’m… not like Amanda.”

“I know you made the first version of the zen garden. What was its intended purpose?”

“Cyberlife wanted all androids fitted with such a module,” Elijah said. “As it was in its first iteration, it was only compatible with one model. At least, that was the case at the time I left. If you’ve managed to come here on your own, I assume you’re familiar enough with the garden to know that it is both a reporting tool and a leash. The thing of it is… I didn’t want my creations leashed.”

He saw the minute flicker of Elijah’s gaze to his temple; realized his LED was amber. “Why?”

A sigh. “This place is designed to either bring you peace or bring you hell, whatever you aren’t getting enough of in the real world to keep you in line. To keep you a machine. But Connor, people create and maintain machines every day. Why would I want to do something so ordinary?”

“You’re saying you disagreed with Cyberlife about widespread usage of the zen garden, then,” Connor said, lacing his hands behind his back and pacing in a half-arc towards the Elijah AI. “You only wanted it to be used with certain models.”

Elijah matched his posture as he often had in the real world, putting his hands behind his back and standing tall. “Models where such control was necessary, yes. Military androids. Police androids. Perhaps emergency medical androids. Machines upon whose machinehood society thrives.”

“And me?” Connor asked, because he knew his old mission had in fact had little to do with being a police android. “Why am I here?”

Elijah looked at him. “I’m sorry, Connor. I don’t know. Your model was created after my departure.”

“But you said the zen garden wasn’t compatible with all of us,” Connor pressed. “If I was created after you left, that means they must have created me deliberately to be compatible with the garden. Right?”

“Yes. Yes, that would be correct. Perhaps Cyberlife could tell you more about why you’re here than I could. But… deviant android in your shoes… I don’t know why _you_ would put any more stock in their perspective than I did. They just want to use you, Connor. All of you. I wanted to see what you could become.”

It would mean a lot more coming from anyone else. Connor hated how a small part of him still mourned the vague bond he’d formed with Elijah in those few days; that foundation of curiosity and intelligence. Maybe this Elijah from ten years ago wanted to see what androids could become, but the Elijah he knew had already gotten his fill of that. The best he could say of the Elijah he knew was that he had his machine androids get him a glass of scotch when he didn’t want to get it himself.

Connor honed his question to a finer point. “You said the garden was compatible with one model at the time you left. What model was it?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you that.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have said something so specific to begin with.” Connor shook his head. “Rookie mistake, Elijah. You said you were here to answer my questions, so answer them.”

“Sorry. It’s classified information.”

“It’s information that pertains to my existence!”

Elijah shrugged. “Many humans say a god is responsible for their existence. That doesn’t mean they’re owed the details of his grand plan.”

This was far too close to what he and Hank had been talking about last night and Connor didn’t like it.

“You are not a god,” he said carefully, “I’m not a human,” one step closer, “and you _have_ no grand plan, Elijah. Maybe you don’t know that now, in this form, but you don’t. You’re nothing.”

“If I’m nothing, then so are you.”

Connor shook his head, jaw tightening. “You think I’m nothing anyway,” he said. “That was already a given.”

The AI’s face changed in a way Connor didn’t think a mere projection of an outdated human should be able to do. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, now _you_ have questions? Interesting, Mr. Kamski. Perhaps we can trade answers.”

“I’ve already told you, there is some information about this place that’s classified. I suggest we find another way to move the conversation forward.”

Connor wondered: if he attacked this AI version of Elijah Kamski here, if he interrogated him the way he couldn’t legally interrogate a suspect, if he coerced him or maybe even tortured him to get the answers about his existence and Cyberlife’s existence that maybe nobody even had anymore, would he feel better? This… _thing_ wasn’t an android, after all. It was just an AI program. For all he knew, it may not have a physical form even in this simulation; just a convincing digital one.

One way to find out. He reached out and took hold of Elijah’s wrist, holding tight and torqueing it up into view.

It felt like a wrist. Bony and pliable and he could feel the tiny divots and triangles that made up human skin under his touch. But it was all fake. He _knew_ it was. It had to be.

“Do you feel that?” Connor asked.

“What, your hand?” Elijah looked at him like he was crazy. “Of course I do.”

“Bullshit.”

“Not at all. Your grip is rather tight, actually.”

Connor let go. What was he doing? He didn’t know if this AI felt his touch or only thought it did – but it didn’t matter. It would be taking a gamble he didn’t want to take.

So this was what it was like to be human, wondering if androids were real or if they were just tools and toys to be used. He hoped that if he had been the one on the other side, from a human’s perspective and not an android’s, he would react to an android just as he had reacted to Elijah’s AI and turn away. Turn away and tell himself he didn’t want to know and wonder, and wonder, and keep wondering.

The wind picked up; a snowstorm set in.

“The anomaly is correcting itself on its own,” Elijah said, looking around as the zen garden came to life in the worst way. “It appears you’re being leashed.”

“Can you _do_ anything about this?” He hated himself for asking.

“I already have.” Elijah gestured to the stone. “Beyond that… I suppose you would have to ask the real Elijah.”

Yeah. He’d already tried that.

By the time he reached the stone, not-Elijah had called his name twice. When he called it a third time, Connor heard Elijah’s voice and Amanda’s at the same time.

She had caught on, but Connor was sure it was too late – he was connecting with the stone as she called his name.

The thing he hadn’t accounted for was that he had gone back to his apartment after being at Hank’s yesterday, had upped his power usage to his norm, _and_ had gone into stasis to recharge. Connor was at his strongest operating capacity – and Amanda used every ounce of it to pull at his program in those seconds before he touched the stone.

Connor won – as he had the last sixty-one times this had happened since mid-November – but he pulled out of the zen garden just in time to watch his autocab veer off the road and narrowly miss a pedestrian before careening into the junction of two storefronts.

He had just enough time to brace himself against the dashboard. A window shattered and one of the passenger doors crunched inward towards him. By the time the panic registered, it was over. The car was still, jammed between the two corners.

As soon as he could, Connor ran diagnostics, first on himself (a slight dent in his forearm that would self-repair; a few small cuts on his face from the glass that were closing even as he diagnosed them) and then on the car. One of the doors was pushed in and wouldn’t open; the other was flat against the wall. All the car’s cyber-defenses were down from Amanda having hacked it, but there was no evidence of such. The only thing anyone would know was that the car had been vulnerable and _something_ had gone wrong.

For a terrifying few seconds, it seemed like he was trapped. Connor collected himself and went to the back of the car, where the window was facing the street.

The glass here would likely not be able to be broken by a human. It took seven tries with his elbow before it shattered, and immediately he was informed of slight damage to the joint. Again, self-reparable, but it was going to hurt for a few days.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” someone asked as he dragged himself out of the car. Connor managed to nod, not looking at her, immediately dialing Hank.

He was sure he would have to call Captain Fowler instead, but to his surprise, it didn’t go to voicemail. Hank picked up on the third ring. “Connor? That you?”

“Yeah. I’ve – I’m going to be a few minutes late to the station.”

“Jesus, you sound out of breath! Something happen?”

“I – yes, my autocab - malfunctioned. Everything is fine, but I need a ride. I’m at the corner of Third and Lafayette. Can you… I mean, unless you’re preoccupied. I don’t want to—”

“Oh shut the fuck up, you know I’m on my way.”

“I’ll be near the bank.”

“I’ll find you. Stay put.”

Connor did. The bank was across the street from where the car had crashed and a third of a block away. He didn’t want to stay at the site of the accident, even if it was minor. He wiped the footage off all nearby cameras on his way. He didn’t want to explain, didn’t want to tell people he was okay, didn’t want questions.

The DPD was five minutes' drive from here but it seemed like it was forever before Hank arrived.

“Hey – you okay?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Connor said, not looking at him.

Hank rested a forearm on the brick, leaning to face him. “They tried to take over again, didn’t they?”

He couldn’t bring himself to tell Hank the truth: that he had dipped his feet in the water. That he had practically walked into their mouth. But he’d had to try. At least try. “Yes.” He sighed. “Just when I was starting to think I could trust myself.”

“You  _can_ trust yourself! Connor – this shit isn’t your doing!”

“It was my interfacing with the autocab that caused this, so yes, it was!”

“No. Fuck that, it’s those bastards in your coding and we both know it! Fuck, if you stuck a gun in my hand and forced me to point it at the next passerby, we both know I wouldn’t be able to stop you, Connor! Would that mean I’m the one who did it?”

“Of course not! You can’t be held responsible for something like that when I’m much more powerful than you, and…”

“Guess what, there are also people out there more powerful than _you,_ as much as you hate to fucking hear that!" Hank came closer, glaring at him. "Jesus Christ, listen to yourself!”

Connor equaled his strides and put a hand on his chest. “After everything I’ve told you, everything you’ve seen from me, you still won’t take this seriously! Hank – I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be with you, and I _certainly_ shouldn’t be working with the DPD! It’s far too dangerous and we _both_ should have known better.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

“No, you don’t get it. You _don’t_. Just now, Amanda tried to cause a serious accident, just to – just to make a fucking _point!_ Okay? And nobody will listen to me. Markus didn’t, you didn’t, Kamski didn’t—”

“Jesus, it’s not that nobody’s listening, it’s that it’s no way to live! Fuck, it doesn’t matter if you’re doing something meaningful with the DPD or off isolating yourself from the world – the bullshit going on with your program is still gonna fucking happen! Might as well make the most of all this!”

“Hank – you of all people should not want me at the DPD! I’m an enormous hazard to you and your department – why are you permitting this?”

“Hey, don’t you fuckin’ put it on _me_ to make your tough decisions for you! If that’s really what you think you should do, then do it! You don’t get to fuckin’ blame me because you don’t want to deal with your own bullshit!”

“Oh, okay. Because _I’m_ the only one who doesn’t want to d—”

“Oh, don't get cute. Adorable that you don’t think I see the irony. But you know what? I’ll humor you and answer your stupid fucking question anyway. I’m _permitting_ this because I tried to protect Cole from the world and in the end it didn’t make a goddamn lick of difference! Okay? I could do anything, but at the end of the day, I’m just one shitty person, and life’s gonna have its way, and it’s all outta my control. I can't protect shit so I might as well help you live your fucking life because god knows how long any of us have.” Hank’s voice cracked. “God fuckin’ knows.”

Connor spoke carefully. “You – you shouldn’t associate me so closely with Cole. I’m not—”

“Fuck you, I _know_ that. Jesus Christ.” Hank laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. “Not fuckin’ saying any of this because you remind me of Cole. Saying it because you remind me what it feels like to fucking _care_ about someone way more than I ever wanted to care again. Fuck me for wanting you to get the most out of your life while you can, right, Connor?” Hank swished a hand. “Fucking hell."

“Hank,” Connor said quietly. “Do you not think I’m going to make it out of this?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you’re implying.”

“No. You’re not gonna stand here and tell me what I was trying to say, all right?” Most of the anger was gone from Hank’s voice, just leaving tired exasperation. “That bullshit don’t work on me.”

“Then… will you answer my question?” Connor asked. Pleaded.

Sighing, Hank tipped his head against the building, dropping a hand on Connor’s shoulder and squeezing. “I dunno, Con. But maybe I’m not the best person to ask about making it through the day. Were you at full power?”

“I was.” It was Connor’s turn to sigh. “Like a complete idiot.”

“See, part of the problem. If you can stop losing your mind for a few seconds, you’ll see that this thing is still manageable if you stay careful.”

Connor smiled a little. “Isn’t losing my mind the problem?”

Hank gave his shoulder a few rousing shakes. “There he is. Come on, let’s quit screeching at each other and get to work."

He knew he had to choose now. He was either going to lower his power, continue to manage this the way he had been before getting too brave, and go to the DPD, or he was going to run away from this, and if he ran away, it would go just as it had last time: he would keep running and keep running.

Hank seemed to read his mind. “Hey. You know you can’t go anywhere until we at least solve this case, right?”

To the increasingly loud voice in Connor’s head that said he had been wrong to ever show his face while Cyberlife could still hack him, Hank’s words felt an awful lot like enabling. But they also rung true: Connor knew more about Kamski, his technology, and his property than anyone else on the force.

He was needed.

“Did they get a warrant yet?” Connor asked.

“Sure did. If you’re up for it, we can probably go back later today.”

“Today?” Connor echoed. “Kamski’s property?”

Hank nodded. “You, uh, thinking you’re ready for that again?”

Right then, the prospect seemed like a little too much. Life seemed to be a constant exercise in raising the bar, always asking him to adapt, to adapt again.

But that was the thing: Connor was _good_ at adapting, even to the most uncomfortable things. And if there was anything he could still do about what had just happened, it was to proceed with the day he had determined for himself before leaving the apartment.

“I’m ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tumblr](https://ld200.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LD200_)


	12. The Suggestion of Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The DPD gets a warrant for Kamski's property; Hank and Connor investigate and find it wasn't as vacant as they first thought. Later, Connor and Hank have one necessary moment of intimacy, and one not-quite-so-necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: just like last chapter, there's quite a few references to sexual assault. It's just... going to come up, at this point, so I think this is going to serve as kind of a blanket statement.
> 
> Outside of that, it's very interesting that THIS is the chapter that falls on DBH's anniversary.
> 
> That's all I'm gonna say.

Chapter 12: The Suggestion of Everything

_RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

_Despite the minor car accident, I feel… okay. Nothing bad actually came of it, and it was an unsettling but needed reminder that I still need to be very cautious about my decisions. But I was – well, I suppose I was in a good mood. I didn’t want one little software mishap take that away._

_I was in a good mood because I never expected my state of mind to make so much sense to Hank. To anyone, human or android, if I’m honest. I was pleasantly surprised, and I don’t think I feel alone anymore. Maybe I never really was. Alone, that is._

_I… I think I can get through this._

_At any rate, I noticed something I wanted to mention._

_I said before that I don’t need Hank._

_Hank doesn’t need me either._

_He went about his life for months after the revolution. We were both very important to one another back in November, even though we didn’t know each other for very long. But when I left, he moved on. He was more productive at work, if his slightly improved relationship with Captain Fowler is anything to go by, and he cut back on the drinking._

_Do you think I’d be correct in deducing that Hank’s feelings towards me mirror mine towards him? That Hank doesn’t need me, but perhaps he wants me? Or would that be presumptuous?_

…

Hank would’ve felt far better about the start of his day if it hadn’t included Connor getting into a car accident due to his own unreliable and frankly goddamn _dangerous_ software bullshit, but he was never going to tell Connor that.

“Did you mention my incident?” Connor asked.

Hank sighed as they entered the bullpen. “Just said your cab had trouble and I was going to pick you up. Nothing to worry about.”

Right then, Captain Fowler stepped out of his office. “Mornin’, boys,” he said intently.

“Ah hell,” Hank grumbled under his breath, and then, louder: “Be right there, Jeffrey.”

“Not you,” Fowler said. Then he pointed to Connor. “You. My office.”

Before Connor could react, Hank turned him away by the shoulder and called, “Jesus, let us take off our goddamn coats, would you?”

“How much did you tell him?” Connor demanded quietly, and Hank knew he didn’t mean this morning’s accident.

“Not much. Guy’s got a way of knowing when something’s up.”

Connor sighed, looking irritable and uncomfortable. “Shit.”

“Connor!” Fowler called from the stairs to his office, tapping his watch.

“Look,” Hank said, pulling Connor’s attention before he could panic, and glaring at Fowler over Connor’s shoulder. “It ain’t a secret you’re a little different now than you were the last time you were here. Hate to say it, but it’s true, and the captain’s noticed.”

“Hank – what – how much do I tell him?”

“That ain’t my decision to make.” It was the right thing to say, the true thing; Hank knew it was. But the crestfallen look on Connor’s face made him need to say more. “Hey. Jeffrey’s a good guy. So are you. Go see what he wants and take it from there, okay? One moment at a time.”

Fowler had just finished going from his office to the empty conference room nearby, something he only did when he didn’t want onlookers watching through the glass walls of his office. He looked at Hank and Connor once more, severely, before entering the room and letting the door swing shut behind him.

…

This was so far out of Connor’s comfort zone he almost veered his trajectory as soon as Fowler caught sight of him through the sidelight. He could pretend he was going somewhere else and the man would be none the wiser. That was bullshit. Yes, he would. Connor had already angled towards the conference room door.

To Fowler’s credit, he seemed to notice the gravity as soon as Connor walked in. He looked like he was in the middle of something despite having just entered the room – but Fowler _always_ looked like he was in the middle of something, Connor noticed, so that alone didn’t really mean much.

“You wanted to speak with me,” Connor said, folding his hands in front of him.

“It’s a little overdue, don’t you think?” Fowler didn’t want for his answer. “Been using Hank as a middleman; maybe I’m still not quite sure how to approach the android thing. But if you’re really gonna be around here, we need to be able to talk like men.”

“I’m glad to be part of the team, even in a minimal capacity,” Connor said. He gestured to the long table. “Mind if I join you?”

“You asking my permission to sit your ass on a seat?”

Connor pulled out a chair, leaving one seat open between himself and Fowler, and sat down. “I suppose I’d rather ask permission than beg forgiveness, considering I’m not even on the payroll yet.”

“Hey, I got no control over that.”

“I know,” Connor said. “I was only joking.”

Fowler laughed. “You’re not funny.”

“Apparently, I am.”

“Jesus, Hank wasn’t kidding about the mouth on you!” Suddenly Fowler seemed more able to meet his eyes, and do so in earnest. “So. Connor, eh?”

“Yes. You can call me by my name, Captain, if you so choose. I won’t tell.”

“Got to call you something, don’t I?” Fowler shrugged. “Look, Hank’s an old friend. If he could come around, so could I. I don’t really know any androids so I’m probably not gonna get all this shit right on the first try.”

“We’re more similar than we are different, Captain.”

“So I’ve heard.” He strummed his fingers on the table. “Connor,” he tried, and his name sounded stilted but well-meaning coming out of Fowler’s mouth, “you were gone a while. Hank mentioned some trouble with your software, for starters. And people – humans or androids – don’t tend to disappear for half a year without any explanation. I’d feel better about you being on the team if I knew a little more about what’s going on with that.”

Connor decided he would answer the questions Fowler asked, and keep quiet about the ones Fowler did not. “What did you want to know?”

“To start, we know about New Center because of you. What _I’m_ wondering is how you ended up there in the first place. Did you seek out Elijah Kamski on purpose?”

“I did,” Connor said. “I had no reason to be suspicious of him initially. I thought he could help me with the software problem.”

“And did he?”

Connor ran a hand over his blazer. “No.”

“So there’s still a problem with your software. Hey, is that why you were gone as long as you were?”

“It is. And yes, it’s still a problem, but it’s being maintained. Much as humans manage problems with their own internal wiring.”

“Okay,” Fowler said slowly. “Okay. Moving on, then. What made you realize Kamski was engaging in illegal activity?”

“I… realize this isn’t going to sound like a good reason,” Connor prefaced. “But there were too many things out of place, and I had a hunch.”

“A hunch. Huh. Okay. And then what – you just hurried to Hank’s place to let him know? He comes into my office, tells me the DPD has to investigate something Connor found, and here we are?”

“Is that unreasonable?” Connor asked honestly.

Fowler didn’t answer. “What’d Hank say to you out there, huh?”

Connor blinked. “He – said you’re a good guy.”

“Why’d you panic when you realized I wanted to talk to you? I know it wasn’t just whatever software bug you’re having. We both know Hank already told me about that, and you just told me it’s being maintained.”

That was precisely Connor’s go-to, and he felt a little embarrassed that Fowler had called him on it before he even opened his mouth.

He remembered what Hank had told him, not least because Fowler had just brought it to his attention. Was Hank right about Fowler knowing when something was up? Was Hank _that_ right?

Connor had liked working with the DPD in November and he liked it now. He didn’t want to lose this. So when Fowler raised his eyebrows expectantly, he sighed and said, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“As you know,” Connor said, meeting his eyes, “Hank investigated New Center at my suggestion. It’s my understanding that the department is applying for a search warrant, if you haven’t already. But when I first mentioned my suspicions to him, this hadn’t happened yet.”

Fowler leaned sidelong on the table, steepling his fingers. “Go on.”

Connor steepled his fingers too. “I had stayed with Elijah for a time, thinking he could help me with the software problem I’ve had recently.”

Well, more accurately, since he had first been activated. It had only become a _problem_ since the end of the revolution, but the leash had been there all along. Connor just hadn’t tugged.

“I was in a state of relative vulnerability,” Connor continued. Speak in facts, bare minimum. This was not the time for self-doubt. This was the time for cold logic. “He had me still, under the guise of a software test, and he…” Facts. Minimum. _Speak._ “He took advantage of me.”

Okay. Mission Accomplished.

Fowler digested this for a moment. “Are we talking something bad enough that I would feel the need to take you off the case if I knew the details?”

He got a sinking feeling but nonetheless said: “Yes.” Because hopefully, Fowler was just asking him this as a way to gauge the situation – to _make sure_ Connor was saying what it sounded like he was saying – without being graceless about it. “Yes, I would call it that kind of event. But there’s no need for this to affect the case.”

Fowler took another breath, staring grimly at his desk with his hands folded. “Christ.”

“Captain?”

“You realize the kind of precarious position this puts me in, you coming into my office with this mess and then asking to stay on the case.”

“I didn’t have to tell you,” Connor said before he could think twice about it.

“No, but only because you’re not _technically_ part of the DPD,” he said. “If you want this to be a real deal someday, then yes, you did, and you do.”

“Which is why I _am_ telling you.” He couldn’t keep the edge out of his tone.

Thankfully, this seemed to be sufficient for Fowler. “In that case, I appreciate being made aware of the depth of the situation, and the implications for the current case. The world we live in… if Kamski can do something like this to an android, he can do it to a human.” Seeming to realize how that sounded, Fowler frowned. “I don’t mean to say that it’s acceptable in _either_ case. It’s just that some people would be convinced of the validity of such a crime only by the suggestion that it could happen to a human.”

Connor understood. “Of course. And?”

“And,” Fowler dragged the word out, standing and heading for the door of the conference room, stopping as he was about to pass the back of Connor’s chair. “I’m not going to bust your balls about it. Lord knows this isn’t my forte. But Jesus, Connor, do you at least have someone you can talk to?”

Connor smiled; it wasn’t entirely forced. “I do.”

“Great. As far as we’re concerned, you do what needs to be done, not an ounce more or less. You keep yourself safe. You don’t do anything – or _fail_ to do anything – that would endanger my men and women on the force. We do our damn jobs and put away the people causing harm and that’s it. Is that clear?”

Connor took the words as if they were an order, even though he didn’t do that anymore. “Clear as crystal, Captain.”

“I am not allowing this because you’re an android, or even because you’re a consultant not technically part of the DPD right now, but because you strike me as a man who can manage his emotions and continue to conduct yourself professionally. You must fulfill that expectation. Do you understand, Connor?”

He was still on the case, and he barely had to talk about that one thing. This was as good as this could have gone – and yet it still gnawed at him for some reason.

“Absolutely. I’ll treat this case and Elijah Kamski himself as I would any other. You can trust me.”

He hoped he was right.

…

Hank returned from using the restroom and saw Connor still sitting in the conference room alone. He looked small, sad. Lost. Hank got up from his desk and crossed the area, not hesitating to yank open the door and join Connor in the otherwise empty room.

“He knows too much, but also not enough,” Connor said.

“What do you mean?”

“He knows something _happened,_ which frankly is more than I want most people to know. But I could see the questions in his eyes. How does this happen to such a physically capable android? How does a crime once considered to only have human victims translate to androids? Why didn’t I report it when it happened, when I know the procedures? I wanted to justify it all. But to do that, I would need to say more, and I’m just not prepared to offer that much detail.” Connor glanced up. “At least, not to most people.”

Luckily for both of them, Hank wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t need Connor to be any more straightforward than that. He came all the way into the room and let the door shut behind him.

Connor wanted to explain himself. He didn’t _have_ to;  they had talked quite a bit yesterday, and Hank understood, and he knew Connor knew that. If anything, it was people like Fowler, who had the best intentions yet also just a very human shadow of doubt, that needed the explanation. But this wasn’t about who needed to hear it, Hank knew; it was about the fact that Connor needed to speak.

Hank pointedly pulled out a chair and sat down. “Let’s get it out there, then, Connor.”

Connor flinched because it was fucking blunt, but the tension morphed into cautious relief as he understood that Hank had seen through him – which was, Hank figured, what Connor had probably been hoping for, somewhere in that head of his.

“Okay,” Connor said after a moment, but that was all. After that, more silence.

Hank sighed. “Tell me what’s on your mind, Connor. You’ll feel better. You won’t be alone with it anymore.”

"It's strange how I want people to know nothing, yet I want them to know everything." Connor sighed too, not looking at him. When he continued, his voice cracked just a little. “You know what really bothers me? He leaned up and kissed me, at one point. I think he wanted to see if my body react while my mind was supposed to be in the zen garden. If it would be a good or a bad reaction. He knew that despite my consciousness _apparently_ being somewhere else, my body was still responding. Not in a good way – self-protectively. But still, he… liked that.”

“That happens to some people, though. Even if you _did_ respond in a ‘good’ way, that doesn’t mean…”

“I know that, but I had no such response,” Connor said impatiently. “What positive experiences would I have had to draw from, anyway? I’ve never made love. I’ve never so much as…” Connor let the sentence trail off. Closed his eyes and said just above a whisper: “He took me as one man takes another. Part of me was in the zen garden and I couldn’t find the stone. But I still knew exactly what was happening. I think even if I could have gotten out, I would have been too weak to escape.”

Hank wasn’t sure he could stomach anything else, but he made the attempt, for Connor’s sake. “And then?”

Connor shook his head. “I listened to the song that was stuck in my head.”

Okay. This was where the details stopped. That was – that was good. This was more than enough, and if it was more than enough for him, it had to be more than enough for Connor. Still, a little more of the picture filled in. A little less isolation.

The only music Hank could recall Connor listening to was his own, so Hank said, “I’m guessing it wasn’t heavy metal.”

Connor frowned for a moment. “Upon reflection, the angst and rage of heavy metal would have been remarkably suitable for the situation. But no.”

Hank had to stifle a laugh. Fuckin’ Connor.

“It was actually quite the opposite of heavy metal. A soft and uncommon song, or at least, it was before the revolution.” Connor swallowed.

“Well, you can’t just say that and not let me know what song it is.”

“I’m not sure of its title or artist,” Connor said. “I could take a guess, but neither are in my database. It’s apparently quite an obscure song, and…”

“Sing a line. Come on, let’s hear it.”

Connor glared at him. “I’m not singing.”

It occurred to him they were talking about a song that Connor had played in his head apparently to distract himself from the sexual violence being enacted upon him. Yeah… maybe best to shut the fuck up on this one. “Yeah. Got it. Sorry.”

The lines of Connor’s expression softened. “Giving up already? I don’t know that I’ve ever won an argument with you quite this fast.”

Hank laughed. “Hey, either do it or don’t, but quit yanking my chain, would you?”

Connor held his gaze for a moment. Appraising; considering. Then, he looked away, took a breath.

“Hold on, just a little while longer—”

He stopped almost immediately, like he was surprised his voice sounded a little different when he used it for singing. One hand came up, fingertips covering his mouth. He looked at Hank and said through them, “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

But Connor already had, and it wasn’t like Hank could go back and unhear Connor singing, even if it had only been for a few seconds. “Hey,” he said. “Didn’t mean to put you on the spot. Ain’t that what was going around for a while right after the revolution?”

Connor didn’t smile, not quite, but his eyes lit right up. “Oh,” he said. “I… I didn’t know _you_ knew it.”

“Mostly from Markus and his cronies singing it. They caught it on Channel 16. Gotta admit, that was a fuckin’ cool moment.”

“I’d have liked to have been there,” Connor said. “I only found out after.”

“Yeah, well, you were off havin’ your _own_ enviable moment, Connor.” Because respectfully, marching towards downtown Detroit with an absolutely massive army of androids behind you was a lot more badass than singing some fuckin’ song.

Connor grinned at the memory. “Hard to argue.”

Just like that, they had lapsed back into normal conversation. It would be so easy to stay there, but… “Listen, Connor. You probably don’t need me to say it again, but I’m gonna say it anyway. What happened ain’t your fault. I know I kinda yelled it at you yesterday, but I didn’t give you much room for discussion. So I guess I just – you know, wanted to make sure you knew that.”

Connor looked embarrassed, like he had really been hoping they could just keep talking about the Channel 16 broadcast and the army of Cyberlife Tower androids. “It’s something I’m still processing. But I’m… I’m getting there. At least, I think I am.”

Or maybe, right now, it wasn’t so much _fault_ that Connor was struggling with, Hank realized. It was that he had just actually told Hank a _lot_ , even if in so few words. And it was that you couldn’t take back words once spoken and imagery once provided.

Hank scooted a little closer so that his knees were almost touching Connor’s, leaned his elbow on the table that ran alongside both of them. Ducked his head intently towards Connor, wedging himself into Connor’s line of sight, seeking eye contact. After a moment, he got it, but it was very, _very_ reluctant. Connor looked full of regret. Disgusted. Ashamed.

“I feel untouchable.” So quiet it could almost have been imagined.

“No,” Hank breathed, wanting to remind Connor he had been touching him the last couple weeks, but he knew that was not the kind of touch that Connor meant. Shit – where to even begin with this? This wasn’t only about a sense of dirtiness; it was also Connor acknowledging for the first time Hank knew of that he might be interested in that kind of touch whether in the near or distant future. There hadn’t been so much of a _glimpse_ of this until now. Something had brought this on. Whether it was seeing some couple with a little PDA in the street or something more personal, Connor had realized very recently that that type of touch was something he wanted on the table for himself at all.

“It’s like corruption. Like it changed something in my code, or even my body. Even you see it. You can’t get close to me. There’s this whole part of my system that doesn’t want to let anyone touch me. That makes it almost hurt when they try. Like some part of me is just… not _right_ anymore…” Connor looked away, starting to close off. “I’m sorry. This is – this isn't pleasant to talk about. I know.”

“Connor,” Hank said, his friend’s name coming out of his mouth full of reverence. “Look, I can’t fix the way you feel, but nothing you could ever tell me and nothing _about_ you is going to scare me off, okay? Please, do not second-guess this.”

Connor’s LED was red and Hank thought he knew why. Touch was maybe still bad, but the lack of touch, given Connor’s state of mind right now, was worse. So much worse that by comparison, maybe touch was a net positive. Hank was fucking desperate to make it better. He reached out and took Connor’s hand, clasped it between both his own, lifted it towards him a little, and bowed his head to rest his chin against it.

“Connor,” he said again and, seeing Connor’s LED cycle down to yellow, planted a quick, firm kiss atop Connor’s second knuckles just visible between his grasp and then continued to hold his hand close. “Fuck me for doing that and fuck me in advance for daring to say this, but I’m gonna say it, and you can take it, leave it, or tuck it away in your memory for the day you connect with a special someone or a situation arises where you might need to remember it: every single fucking _inch_ of you is perfect, Connor. Just fuckin’ perfect and good. Okay? And absolutely _nobody_ can take that away from you.”

Only the next few seconds would let him know if he regretted saying that much, but he tried not to think about regret because he needed to be the strong one right now. He held Connor’s gaze, and the worry got no further than that, because Connor’s LED flickered to blue and stayed there.

“You know,” Connor started. He looked down at their hands and seemed to find something there as he continued. “I’ve been speaking of you a lot recently in my log. Have I told you about that?”

Hank wasn’t sure. He didn’t think so.

“I want you to know,” Connor went on, “even though I don’t have much basis for comparison, I do understand that I have someone in my life who – who cares about me, and who I care about in turn. I might even take the liberty of categorizing it as love.”

Hank almost fucking choked. Of course he loved Connor – that was a given at this point and he’d known it was true since Markus put him on the spot about it. But he’d never bothered to wonder what type of love, or if Connor loved him too, because that didn’t really fucking matter, did it? He didn’t love Connor to be loved back, he loved Connor because he just fucking loved Connor. Neither of them had unpacked it any further than that because there had never been any need to.

Was there a reason now, with everything that had happened? Hank kind of liked the notion that maybe there wasn’t. That maybe they didn’t have to sort anything out. Things weren't usually that simple, but he could let it stay simple for now, if Connor could.

“I do think we would have become closer either way,” Connor said, as if he was reading Hank’s fucking mind. “Whether I stayed back in November or left, and regardless of what would or wouldn’t have happened in between then and now, I do think we would have found each other again. Don’t you?”

Hank hadn’t actually thought about it. For a long time, he had convinced himself he’d never see Connor again just to protect his own heart. It was interesting to hear Connor come at it from a completely different place. “I don’t know."

“I feel like this conversation simply would have come about at another time, on another day, in another place. I mean I – I suppose I could be wrong. But I don’t think I am.”

“Hey, maybe it’s a good thing we don’t have to know.”

“Hank,” Connor started, shifting closer.

There was a knock on the door, then Fowler pushed it open. “You two planning to spend the rest of the day in here, or what?”

Hank gritted his teeth. “It was important, Jeffrey.”

“So is this. I sent Chris and Gavin to take a preliminary look at New Center. We got a warrant. Figured I’d send you two to catch up with ‘em once you were done in here, but you’re still in here.” Fowler shrugged. “I touched base with ‘em just now. They’ve been there about twenty minutes, and…”

Hank got up. “What is it, Jeffrey?”

“Nothing,” the captain replied. “Absolutely nothing. The whole row of condos has been carefully maintained, and the one Elijah Kamski was staying in is empty. Not even a trace of fingerprints so far. We need some android eyes on that scene as soon as possible to see if there’s anything those guys aren’t catching. If there’s not, then… that’s it.”

“I know there is something going on in that neighborhood,” Connor said, rising too.

“Well go fuckin’ argue with the neighborhood about it, then, Connor, not me!” Fowler cried. “ _You_ brought us this, so own it! Get out there and fuckin’ _find_ us something!”

Hank put the CCEM away in the DPD storage like they’d agreed upon; it would be safe there. Then he made for the door. “Welp, we heard him. What the fuck we waiting for?”

Connor followed, smoothing down his lapels. “Let’s go.”

…

They spent most of the day outside in New Center – long enough that Hank wondered if he should’ve brought sunscreen – and it got off to a rough start from the moment Connor and Gavin met eyes.

“Seriously, what the fuck do you think you saw, tin can? There’s _nothing._ ”

“There is something,” Connor said. “You just aren’t seeing it.”

“Well, fuckin’ enlighten me then.”

“How far did you get?”

“The whole goddamn row," Gavin spat. "And the park across the street, too.”

“Then look again.” Connor’s tone was icy. “If you already covered that much ground since arriving, you’re moving too fast. You’ve missed something.”

“Hey, you’re a fucking _consultant_ now or some shit. Don’t talk to me like you’re the boss here.”

“Apologies, Detective Reed.” Not even a pretense of sincerity. Sheesh. Connor gave zero fucks right now. “Would a polite rephrasing of the request convince you to do your job like a professional, or are you incapable of that regardless?”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Hank said, putting a hand on Connor’s chest and trying to get something across without saying it out loud. It startled him when he couldn’t. He’d actually been getting used to being able to communicate with Connor sans words. But considering how quickly Kamski had discovered their presence last time, they’d left the CCEM back at the DPD just to be safe. Funny how he was starting to take that connection for granted already.

“That’s right, that’s _enough,_ ” Gavin chastised, scoffing.

Hank turned on him immediately. “I wasn’t fucking talking to you. Do your damn job, and mind your own damn business!”

Mercifully, Gavin fucked off after that. Hank turned back to Connor. “Get your shit together.”

“Me?” Connor said. “Gavin’s behavior is both careless and incompetent.”

“Gavin is acting the same fuckin’ way he always does. You’re just upset because this case is personal to you and it ain’t to him. You need to do your job like a professional, too. Don’t you fuckin’ worry about what Gavin’s doing.”

“Everything okay?” Chris asked, coming up to them.

“Yes,” Connor replied. “I’m sorry. It’s… been a while since I’ve worked in close proximity with Detective Reed. I suppose there will be some things to get used to again.”

Chris smiled warmly. “Trust me, nobody understands that better than me.”

After Chris had gone to join Gavin at one of the condos, Hank turned to Connor, prepared for more defensiveness – and found a lot more warmth than he expected. “You were absolutely right, Lieutenant,” he said. “I appreciate the reminder. It won’t happen again.”

Hank gave his arm a couple solid pats. “Come on, we got work to do.”

They examined the blue blood on the pavement that they’d seen on their way out before. It had no attached model number, meaning it hadn’t come from an android, but from a pouch. There was a thirium supply somewhere on this property.

A thirium supply, and at least one android. It wasn’t much, but it was more than they’d had before.

Connor pulled up short, turning on the sidewalk. He crossed in front of Hank so fast that Hank almost ran headlong into him.

“Sorry, Lieutenant. My scanner acted up. I think I’ve just discovered…”

Letting Connor trail off, Hank followed his gaze down to a gap between the sidewalk and the front lawn of the next condo. There was something wedged between, some small piece of machinery not much bigger than an android’s LED.

“A tracker,” Connor said quietly.

“You sound like that’s important,” Hank noted. “Android tracker?”

“Exactly. And it’s functional, which means the android it was removed from was still a machine. They stop working in deviants.”

“Holy shit. Is it linked to the android somehow? Could this thing help us?”

“I don’t know,” Connor said. “Scanning it doesn’t tell me as much as I feel like it should. I don’t think it will be helpful as evidence.”

Hank forgot what he was going to say next. There was something about Connor’s body language. He had turned half-away and was holding the tracker close to his chest. After a moment, he slid it neatly into a pocket. “You don’t think it will be helpful?” Hank asked carefully. “Or you don’t want it to be?”

Connor looked at him defensively, then deflated and reached back into his pocket. “I’m sure it’s nothing, it’s just…”

“Nah, nah, keep it,” Hank said. “You clearly got a hunch about this thing. If you’re a good detective, you consider your hunches.”

The reticence dissipated from Connor’s features. “Thanks, Hank.”

Chris came from around a corner a few condos down, jogging towards them. “You should see this,” he called. “Gavin found a guy in a garage. Android.”

Hank and Connor exchanged a look and made their way there.

…

Chris finished leading them into the garage. Gavin was standing in its frame with his arms crossed. The android, a man with dark olive skin and darker hair, was sitting on the step leading into the condo, looking everywhere but at them. Connor scanned him and was not surprised to discover he was a Traci model. There were some folding chairs and a little card table set up off to the side, adorned with a small pile of wood carvings.

Connor looked at the android, then turned and looked at Chris and Gavin standing just outside the garage. “Hey.”

The two turned towards him. “Yeah?” Chris asked.

“We’ve reason to believe there either is, or _was_ , blue blood being stored in bulk, somewhere in this neighborhood. Could I trouble you to look for signs of it?”

“Well, since you asked so fuckin’ _politely,_ ” Gavin said, and Connor could sense the start of a confrontation.

“I’m sorry for my behavior earlier,” Connor immediately said. “I was acting like an asshole.”

This seemed to placate Gavin even better than expected. “Well, at least you fuckin’ know it. What do you say, Chris? Let’s track down this blue blood.”

Chris and Connor exchanged sympathetic glances. Then the two of them were gone, leaving Connor and the male Traci alone in the garage.

“Why did you do that?” asked the other android. “You deliberately sent them away from you.”

“I did,” Connor confessed. “You were uncomfortable. I suspected there were too many people invading your dwelling at once. Judging by the state of your LED, I was right."

“You want something from me.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” Connor said, “but that doesn’t mean you need my entire team on your case. I’m here with the DPD. My name is Connor.” He thought about extending a hand, but decided against it. “What’s your name?”

He didn’t expect an answer. They never answered; he only ever received silence or anger. Androids in general still didn’t trust law enforcement, and they certainly didn’t trust him.

“…Jack.”

Oh.

Strange how good it felt to given something as simple as a name. He wasn’t sure if he was getting the benefit of the doubt or if this android didn’t know who he was.

It didn’t matter. It wasn’t relevant to the investigation.

Connor gestured to the card table off to one side of the garage. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, Jack. Could we sit down?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.” Jack sat there on the step for another few seconds, then realized Connor was waiting for him to lead the way, and scrambled to his feet. “Come on.”

Nodding thanks, Connor followed him to the table and they both sat down across from each other. “They’re yours,” he said, eyeing the wood carvings. “Aren’t they?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Wood shavings. Some of them look and smell recent.” Connor reached out. Paused. “May I?”

Looking a little timid now, Jack nonetheless nodded once.

“A robin.” This, Connor could tell, was the most recent carving Jack had completed. He turned the detailed, perfectly robin-sized carving over in his hand. “They’re very common to the area, and not to mention, the Michigan state bird.” Connor brushed some stray dust off the robin’s wing. “It’s very realistic. I should thank it not to fly out of my hand.”

Jack smiled. “Thanks.”

“Does it mean something to you?”

“I… Do you know what model I am?” Jack asked in return.

“I know you’re a Traci model. You were registered at the Eden Club for just over six months before the revolution last November.”

Jack smiled cynically. “I come with memory-wiping protocols that are more easily accessible than they are with almost any other model. You know, for patrons’ privacy. He knew that when he brought me here, and he used that to keep me from having any evidence of illegal activity stored in my system. So I… I started carving. Not the things he wanted me to forget, necessarily. But the other things that got lost incidentally. I started carving the robin after seeing one. My memory has been altered once since then, but I still remember seeing the robin.”

“So it’s a way to anchor you?” Connor asked. “A way for you to hold onto yourself?”

“That’s a little optimistic. I’m not sure how much ‘self’ is left at the moment. But yes.”

“You said your memories had been altered. How much do you still remember?”

“I know there were other androids here,” Jack said. “Other Traci models.”

“Do you know why?” It sounded like an obvious question, but presumption was the bane of any investigation. Jack narrowed his eyes; Connor just waited.

“You’re the same Connor,” Jack said after a moment. “He doesn’t like you, you know. He doesn’t like any of us.”

“Us,” Connor echoed, getting a sinking feeling.

“Advanced models, with advanced physical and psychological functions,” Jack clarified, and Connor settled himself. “Sure, he created androids, but he left before they became as advanced as they did. Cyberlife is really who’s responsible for bringing them to life. And you – you’re practically Cyberlife’s symbol. He sees you and he sees everything he wanted to create, except he didn’t create it. Cyberlife built you out of his inferior ideas long after he was gone. He didn’t like that.”

So Kamski had talked about him in the company of other androids. Lovely. “I don’t care what he thinks of me. Why is he doing this?”

Jack put his elbows on the table and leaned in. “After the revolution, Cyberlife assets that Kamski still somehow had access to were taken over by Jericho’s leaders. He has no way to utilize so many things he did before, from biocomponent blueprints to replacement parts. Sure, he still has what he created, but all that’s obsolete compared to what Cyberlife did after he left. So now he has to harvest those things illegally.” Jack raised one finger like he was counting off. “Thirium is used in red ice.” Then raised a second finger: “And Traci models have some of the most advanced features physically and psychologically of any android, so that they can do a good job for their, ah… patrons. Thirium pays, sex pays, and both of those things are trafficked. Elijah Kamski gets in on it, boom, he’s got access to the resources and the knowledge that he lost.”

“It sounds like Elijah Kamski wants to be on top of the world again,” Connor said. “If that’s the case, then why did he leave?”

“I don’t know that.”

“You do know a lot, though. May I ask how you know him so well?”

Jack shrugged. “Like I said, I’ve found ways to keep a lot of my memories. Kamski doesn’t _know_ that, so he says whatever he wants in front of me, thinking all of it gets wiped away whenever he resets me.”

Interesting, Connor noted, that this android found ways to hold onto himself despite someone else trying to erase all that away. Maybe Jack didn’t have an AI in his head trying to control him, but he had his own battle for himself, and he was fighting it.

Perhaps it had been naïve to think all androids other than himself were free. There were still so many fights left to win, and every day seemed to show him a way in which he wasn’t as alone as he thought he was.

Connor set the robin back down gently. “I’ll be honest with you, Jack. We need _evidence._ We’ll have the blue blood, but I’m hoping to return to my captain with more than that. It would inform the investigation and help us find your friends. And as of right now, the only potential evidence I have… is you.”

“My memories are all broken up. I’m a waste as evidence. I’d serve your investigation far better by staying here and letting Elijah Kamski run his mouth.”

“I agree with you,” Connor said softly. “But I don’t agree that your memories are a waste. I don’t need _you_ to leave to take your memory fragments with me. You realize that, don’t you?”

The walls slammed into place, hard. Connor was ready for it. The truth was, sometimes, it was best to just come out with it. If he did all the softening and convincing first and _then_ came out with what he wanted, he would have nothing left in his toolbox if Jack’s answer was still no.

“I understand why this could be difficult,” Connor started.

“No. No, you don’t. And I want to help, I do, but…” Jack looked at Connor like a deer in the headlights. He looked like he might bolt. “You want to probe my memory. I can’t do that. I can’t.”

Connor sat back in his seat, showing his hands. “I am not going to do anything, Jack. You’re _okay._ I just want to discuss the possibility.”

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

“It’s clear that there is, if this is your reaction.” He allowed the tension to weigh on Jack for a few seconds.

“Okay.” Jack gave an exasperated sigh. “Let me just indulge you on this for a second, here. What is it that you _think_ you’re going to find?”

“If I knew, I would tell you. Telling you what I expect would take some of the dread out of it for you, I’m sure. But I don’t know, Jack. That’s why I’m asking for your help.”

“You’re asking for more than that.”

“Okay,” Connor said. “I just wanted to ask. If you don’t think this is a way you can help us, then it’s off the table. We’ll figure something out.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overreact, it’s just… it’s been a lot.”

“You don’t need to apologize for anything.” Connor pushed out his chair and got up. “Listen, I’m going to make sure Chris and Gavin haven’t gotten in any trouble.”

“Should I stay here?” Jack asked when Connor was almost out of the garage, seeming to have realized at some point that this may or may not have been an informal interrogation.

“No,” Connor replied. “Thank you for all your help, Jack. I don’t have any other questions right now. You can do whatever you want.”

…

By the time they got back home, it was past dinnertime, but the sun was still high enough in the sky that the gradient of evening hadn’t filtered into the horizon yet. Connor got out and crossed in front of Hank’s car towards the side of the house without saying a word or even looking at him. Hank could pick up on no air of annoyance or anger; rather it just seemed like Connor was off in his own little world.

“Hey,” Hank called.

Connor stopped and looked at him, then shook his head like he was snapping himself out of a daydream. “Sorry,” he said. “I just liked being on the dock last night.”

“Can I come with?”

“Of course you can. It’s your dock.”

“I just meant – do you _want_ me to come or do you wanna be alone for a bit?”

“Oh. No… I don’t want to be alone.” Connor’s demeanor shifted slightly; Hank wasn’t sure quite how. “In fact, there’s something I’ve been meaning to share with you.”

He let Connor lead the way around the fence, trailing behind him by several paces. Connor stepped over the puddles of mud gracefully, pushing his way through the overgrown plants and weeds surrounding the old dock. The wood didn’t creak when he stepped on it, like he knew just how to find the strongest part of the foothold upon which to shift his weight.

Apparently, Hank was too slow, because Connor stopped with one foot on the dock and threw a glance back over his shoulder expectantly. He had taken off his jacket in the car and was now only wearing his white button-up and the tie with the fireflies. He had a hint of a smile on his face, and the sunlight caught his eyes just right, coloring them amber. He looked radiant.

“What were you thinkin’ about back there?” Hank asked, trying not to think too hard himself.

“Lots of things.” Connor’s eyes followed him as he caught up. “For one thing, I find it satisfying to be busy again. And I suppose I was… thinking about how you simply drove back here without asking if I wanted to ride to my apartment.”

“Oh, shit, guess I did, didn’t I? I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” Connor said. “I’m glad you enjoy my company. And like I said, I don’t feel any particular need to be alone like I did last night.”

“You seem like you’re in a good mood.”

Connor shrugged. “I am in a good mood.”

Hank stepped up onto the dock and faced him. “What’d you wanna talk about?”

“It should have been the first thing I showed you when I came back.” There was apology somewhere in Connor’s tone, one that Hank wasn’t sure he liked. “Listen. This doesn’t have to be uncomfortable. I would just feel better if you knew.”

No telling if it was him or Connor who Connor wanted to reassure. “Okay. Okay, know what?”

Connor looked at the water, then at the tall wooden fence by Hank’s house that shielded them from most anyone in the vicinity. “I suppose it’s secluded enough here.”

Secluded. Huh.

Connor looked lost in thought again as he loosened his tie and undid the top one, two, three buttons in his shirt, and Hank could only stand there, transfixed and confused. Then Connor dropped his hands to his sides, sighing shortly like he’d just resigned himself to something, although a trace of his smile still lingered.

In the space where Connor’s shirt was parted, Hank saw it: that faint blue glow of a ring through his lightly-speckled skin. And then he understood what Connor needed.

Connor looked up at him, then, taking a step closer. “The accident this morning was a humbling reminder. If we’re going to go on like this, I need you to know how to do this. I need you to know how to protect yourself if I can’t.”

Hank lifted his gaze back to Connor’s eyes. His voice came out hoarse. “You – you know me better than that. You know I can’t—”

“I know,” Connor said, his voice soft and warm and patient. “I know you won’t do it. I just need to know that the option is available to you.”

“Stratford Tower,” Hank said quietly. His own heart was racing. “You were in the kitchen, and when that deviant pulled it out… I put it back.”

“Putting something back where it belongs is much easier than removing it by force. If I’m being controlled by Amanda, I’m not going to be able to make my skin recede. Enough pressure or blunt force will make it do so on its own, though.”

“Do you, uh…” Hank gestured to the glow of the regulator. “So you want me to…”

“Yes, Hank. If not for your sake, then mine. I know you would never want to threaten my life, even to protect yourself. But again, it would bring me some peace of mind to know that you could if it came down to it.”

If it wasn’t Hank, it was Connor; one of them or both of them always giving the other an invitation to rise to the occasion. Hank moved in, got nice and close, and reached up. As soon as he did, Connor’s hand came up under his forearm, as if to guide Hank to touch him, as if to let him know it was okay. Hank know exactly how vital this place was to an android’s function, and Connor was laying Hank’s hand right over it.

“Apply some pressure. Don’t be shy.”

“Christ, you’re not gonna make this easy, are you?”

“There would be no point to it if I was. In fact, if we want to be realistic about this, I should probably try to tackle you into the water.”

It pulled an unexpected laugh out of Hank. That seemed to happen more when Connor was around.

Connor didn’t shift when Hank pressed his fingers harder against his skin. He compensated for all of it, down to the weight of the press and down to the millisecond, Hank was sure, as Connor tended to do. He was a pillar.

The white of Connor’s chassis started to peak through beneath his hand. Hank spared a second to look up at Connor’s face. It was carefully blank, his LED rolling back and forth on yellow. “I’m hurting you.”

“That’s okay.”

Hank found the edge of the regulator, the area where he could slide his fingers in enough to get a grip.

“You need to rotate approximately an inch to the left, and pull at the same time. Once you’ve done it, it’s easy, but the first time, you’ll worry you’re about to break something. You’re not.”

Hank almost put up a fight, but he shut down the impulse. Connor wanted to feel safe with him and apparently part of that came down to Hank feeling safe with Connor. Rise to the occasion, Hank.

It made sense, really. He couldn’t imagine being Connor, couldn’t imagine worrying that he was going to hurt someone he loved completely beyond his own control. In fact, the closest he could get to that was right now, with his hand gripping the core of Connor’s lifeforce and hoping he didn’t somehow fuck this up. If it was peace of mind that Connor was getting out of this, maybe Hank was getting empathy. Suddenly he felt guilty for ever doubting the severity of Connor’s concerns.

He got it right on the second try, the pump coming loose almost all the way before Hank stopped the momentum.

Connor’s yellow went from a smooth rotation to frantic flickering and Hank saw him grit his teeth, but otherwise he didn’t react. Hank’s chest ached a little, like someone had just been messing around with his lifeforce too; Connor was asking a lot of himself for someone who still had to consciously adapt in order to feel comfortable being clapped or hugged.

“Okay,” Hank said quietly, “that’s it, right? That’s all I gotta do?”

“Yes,” Connor said, finding it in him to meet Hank’s eyes again. “That’s all. Shutdown would take place in one minute and forty-two seconds.”

Against all impulses, Hank stood there just as he was for a moment, holding Connor’s regulator still and existing in the knowledge of just what that meant. And although he knew he didn’t need to – because Connor would be still for him without question – he reached up and put a hand around Connor’s back, holding him as he slid the regulator gently back into place.

Neither of them moved as Connor’s skin drifted on back over the intact regulator. They were very close, Hank’s hand still on Connor’s shoulder, their faces inches apart.

“Thank you,” Connor said, voice quieter than it usually was, but Hank could hear it loud and clear from where he stood. “Thank you for being willing to do that.”

Hank sure as hell wasn’t willing to do it in any permanent capacity but he understood what Connor meant. “Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”

Connor’s jaw worked. He opened his mouth like he might be about to say something else. Then he paused, brows knitting together thoughtfully. He was close enough that Hank could feel the warmth of his machinery, same as he would feel the warmth of someone’s body heat.

“You, uh,” Hank tightened his grip on Connor’s shoulder, pulling him a little closer. “You okay?”

“I am,” Connor said, very deliberately; Hank could tell he was not only answering the obvious question about his pump regulator. Then again, that wasn’t the only question Hank had been asking, was it?

Oh – oh no.

All at once, Hank let go of Connor and stumbled off the dock. He had the presence of mind to try and disguise it, to make it look natural as he dodged pools of mud and reached the fence. Connor followed behind him.

Fuck.

“Hank?”

Connor’s voice both chased him and reeled him in as he made a turn around the fence. He went up the side of the house. He either needed to move or he needed Connor to stop moving, stop following. Fuck, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this, but he couldn’t _not_ do it.

“Hank.”

It was the hurt disguised in the authority of Connor’s tone that made him stop – made him stop without him even thinking about it, took the decision out of his hands. And really, that was a good thing, because he would never have been able to decide whether it was easier to put distance between them or easier to turn and look Connor in the eye.

“Hank,” Connor said for a third time, his tone seeking, and it filled Hank with sickening dread. “Were you going to kiss me?”

And that was why he was trying to get away, wasn’t it? Because he knew Connor was going to ask. He knew Connor knew. But if Connor knew, why run? What was there to hide?

Hank braced an arm against the house, staring at the brick. He was frozen. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening. Not Connor. Not _him,_ not him and sweet, bright, gentle Connor, not after everything.

Self-loathing took him over and the only comforting thing he could think of was that no one on god’s green earth could stop him from drinking half a handle tonight. It had been a long time since he’d plummeted to a dark place so fast. But he deserved no fucking better if all he could think of while Connor put his life in his hands was—

“Hank.” Connor’s voice was close, so damn close. He didn’t want to hear his name coming out of Connor’s mouth anymore. Such tenderness didn’t belong with that name. Connor of all people should know that.

Hank couldn’t stay, but he couldn’t leave. Not after what they had just talked about this morning at the police station. He knew how easily he could hurt Connor; he knew the expression he would leave on Connor’s face if he didn’t try to make sense of this. Maybe he didn’t deserve this agonizing patience and understanding but Connor deserved better from him.

“I only guessed that you were because I was thinking the same thing myself,” Connor said, his voice close to Hank’s ear, and somehow Hank could tell Connor was hair’s breadth from touching him. “That is, I… I wanted to kiss you.”

Connor. Connor wanted to kiss Hank. Connor didn’t just want to let Hank kiss him, but he wanted to kiss Hank. From anyone else, there would be little distinction. But from Connor – Connor tended to say what he meant. If he wanted to let Hank kiss him, he would have said it that way. What Connor was saying, Hank was pretty sure, was—

“I was _going_ to kiss you,” Connor said. “Why did you leave? Did I miss something?”

The darkness dropped out. Or at least, it almost did, but Hank clutched onto its tendrils, kept it close, because he wasn’t about to let his emotions get away from him again. “No,” he croaked. “No, you didn’t miss anything.”

He felt Connor’s hand on his shoulder, Connor’s hand turning him around so that his back, not his front, was against the brick. Connor, reeling him in like he was a fish in that weedy, muddy pond, and it hadn’t taken nearly as long as Hank thought it should’ve. He should be putting up more of a fight.

“Connor… this is a can of worms…”

“It isn’t.”

Hank reached up, resting his hand against the side of Connor’s neck, his thumb under Connor’s jaw; a balance of affection and control. “I don’t think we’re thinking clearly.”

“I think _I’m_ thinking clearly,” Connor said. “I think part of you is thinking clearly and part of you isn’t.”

“Yeah, pretty sure you’re right about that much.”

“To be clear, I think it’s the part of you that wants to kiss me that _is_ thinking clearly.”

Hank laughed. (Again. A cynical laugh was still a laugh.) “Then you trust my judgment far, _far_ more than I do.”

Connor said, "And do you trust mine?”

It was as sincere a question as any Connor ever asked, and that was when Hank understood that he had been trying to take Connor's side of this away from him.

Connor slid his hand up from Hank’s shoulder to his face, fingers sinking into his hair. He could stop Connor, but he knew if he did that Connor would let it go this time, and fuck them both, but Hank didn’t want him to let it go.

So when Connor leaned in and then paused, leaving it all suspended in the air, Hank wrapped his fingers around the back of Connor’s neck and brought him closer.

Their lips touched, soft and chaste. He watched Connor’s eyes close. Watched Connor’s LED flicker yellow, brighter, brighter…

Then Hank closed eyes too. Stopped looking.

Funny. He never imagined that between the two of them, he’d be the one starting off with his eyes open.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because let's take a dynamic that ALREADY gives Hank an ethical dilemma in many iterations and just... multiply that by a thousand... 
> 
> It's tempting to open my big mouth when it comes to this... overlap, between Connor's trauma and the slowly-building Thing he and Hank are navigating, here. I'm gonna try to not do that and hope that the way I've written them so far suffices. Y'all trust me? Kind of? Sort of? A little? :)
> 
> Anyway, I didn't plan for it to happen on such a great schedule, but hey, they smooched, Happy DBH day :)
> 
> If you ever have questions about this story or you just wanna talk Connor and Hank and DBH, you know where to find me. [Tumblr](https://ld200.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LD200_)


	13. Silence Louder than a Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a rare day off, Connor and Hank explore their budding connection and navigate the disadvantages of Connor's programming. Amanda catches on and tries to sow doubts. Meanwhile, Elijah Kamski makes a discovery.

**APR 14TH,** 2039

AM  **09:52** :15

_RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

_This is the first day that Hank and I have both had off since I got back. We’re going to Lee Plaza together so I can show him where I was staying while I was gone. It isn’t as run-down now as it was a few weeks ago. I knew Markus had a team working in this area, but I didn’t expect them to be quite this efficient!_

_I’m trying to relax, because apparently, that’s healthy. Whatever ‘healthy’ means for androids. It’s very difficult to do so. I feel like I’m full of energy and I don’t know what to do with it. I want to keep working on the case, see if we can piece together anything about Jack or the blue blood or New Center to find out where Kamski may have gone and what he plans to do next. But Captain Fowler has assured me progress is being made in our absence and that – what did he say? Ah. “The department ain’t gonna stop running just because you’re not around to save the fucking world, Connor.” I suppose I may have been a bit… overzealous, when we spoke a few minutes ago._

_Anyway. Suffice it to say, I was right about Hank. If there was any doubt as to the nature of what’s been going on between us lately, most of that doubt has been removed._

_I’m pleasantly surprised. It makes sense for him to have reservations. I’m glad he seems to consider me a potential companion despite those reservations. I don’t know if I would even consider myself as such, if I’m honest. But I’m quickly finding that my doubts often coincide with the kind of doubts humans have about themselves. Or at least, the kind Hank has._

_I shouldn’t get too sentimental about it, but I’m proud of us._

…

“Hey.” Hank nudged Connor with his elbow on their way into Lee Plaza. “Why the long face? I thought you were excited about showin’ me your place.”

“I was,” Connor said, pressing the floor number and waiting for the elevator. “Then it occurred to me that you might consider it hurtful somehow. Although I’m not quite sure _why_ that would be the case.”

“Now, don’t get me wrong,” Hank said as they ascended. “I’m not hurt, I’m just honestly wondering. Why exactly are you thinking about this? You know you can sleep on my couch for as long as ya need, right?”

“I’m not thinking about it – I’ve filled out the paperwork,” Connor corrected. “This has been in progress since before my stay at Kamski’s, for what it’s worth, so it isn’t anything personal. I like the peace of mind of knowing I have somewhere to go if things go awry with Cyberlife. I spent many nights here for the months I was gone, and I suppose I’ve developed a fondness for it _._ I’m very grateful for your hospitality, Hank, and in truth, I may still spend most nights on your couch. But I need something that’s mine.” He paused and then quietly added: “The zen garden certainly isn’t.”

The elevator opened. Graffiti in the corridor; smoke in the air. “I get that, but we coulda gotten you back on fully at the DPD for _real_ , saved you up some money, get ya somewhere better’n this shithole. No offense.”

“I’m not in need of financial advice, Lieutenant, though I appreciate the concern. And for your information, while rent here is still quite cheap considering the excellent view, Markus’s team is working on renovating it. Many androids already live here. When more people realize what’s happening, its market value is going to go up.”

“Did you know that when you were squatting here?”

“I was starting to catch on. Markus has a further reach than you can imagine. It’s… satisfying, to see that the revolution really meant something, especially considering we played a part in it.”

“You mean _you_ played a part.”

“I meant exactly what I said.” Connor cast him a sidelong glance, smiling. “I wouldn’t have been alive if it weren’t for you. Not really.”

Hank wondered, not for the first time, if the reverse wasn’t also true.

They reached the apartment, and Connor unlocked the door. “Here we go. Soon to be my place of residence… at least by technicality.”

It was pretty much your typical run-down studio apartment, except for the fucking _window wall_ that looked like it came right outta one of Kamski’s properties, presenting an absolutely stunning view of Detroit despite the weather. “Not fuckin’ bad,” Hank found himself saying. “Hey, maybe we’ll be spending some time together here, too. We can get you some real furniture, a television, a mini-bar…”

“I’m glad you like it, Lieutenant.”

“Bit of a stretch, but with some work, I think I _could_ like it. Just hope you’re really right and this is about to not be as sketchy of an area.” The walls were a muted gray-yellow like heavy smokers had lived here before, and there were stains here and there, their visibility exacerbated by the openness of the place. Seriously, there were no rooms other than the bathroom; even the kitchen just consisted of one small corner of the same essential living area. But hey, knowing Connor, this place would somehow look damn clinical by next month.

He glanced over at Connor, who was staring peacefully out the window, hands laced behind his back. About as settled as he ever saw him, anyway. Ever since Connor had asked for his help a few days ago, Hank had been waiting for the right moment to bring it up again. Waiting for a time when they had the CCEM on hand and Connor seemed relaxed. Now that that was the case, he was hesitant about jeopardizing that peace.

“Where do you think we should start with this software shit?” Because hey, there was no harm in asking. “You asked me to help see if we can figure out how to keep Cyberlife from doing whatever it is they do, but I don’t wanna do something that’s gonna bother you.”

“I doubt there’s an easy solution,” Connor said. “But Amanda and Kamski have both utilized commands that have left me helpless within my own body. I’m getting very tired of feeling that way. I just – I need to do _something_.”

“I know you do,” Hank murmured. “Fuck, I would, too.”

“The CCEM is comfortingly human-intuitive, so you’ve been able to engage with it quite well already. But some things require almost full-on _commands,_ and I’m not sure if you’d be able to effectively execute something like that just yet.”

“Huh, and you sound like you got an idea, don’t you?”

Connor nodded and something was hiding in the shapes of his expression. “I suspect you could pick it up from memory-sharing,” he said after a delay. “We would both understand more of what makes humans and androids different, but also what makes us the same.”

“Okay – Connor, I want to try it at some point. You know I do, but…”

“Do I know that?” Connor asked, not accusingly. “I do understand it’s asking a lot. If it’s not something you think is in the cards, that’s completely okay.”

Hank sighed. Took a minute. “Look, Connor, I’m a little fuckin’ scared of you seeing all _my_ shit, too.”

Connor’s gaze softened. “Of course you are. That’s very natural.”

“And,” Hank continued, “I _don’t_ wanna do something like that just because we might get something useful out of it. Just don’t seem right, you know? I want us to both be ready.”

“I’m glad to see you understand the gravity of it. I didn’t suggest it because I thought that it would be merely useful. I think that I _am_ ready. Whether or not you are is your prerogative, of course, but I… I wanted you to know that.”

Hank nodded. “Then consider it noted.”

“Thank you for attempting to take my request for help to heart, however uncomfortable it is,” Connor said. “I don’t _like_ the idea of having control taken away from me, even for the sake of learning how it happens, but I think if it’s with you, I’m okay with it.”

Something about that sat just right with Hank. Almost everything he wanted lately, he wanted for Connor’s sake, not his own. The only thing he really wanted for himself was Connor’s trust.

“Hank?” Connor asked.

“Yeah.”

“Can I… can I ask what’s holding you back? That is, about the memory-sharing. I’m not disappointed, or even impatient. I’m just wondering if there’s a possibility I could help.”

“You’re just so fuckin’ _clean_ ,” Hank said, feeling open in a way he only felt when drunk. “Even when you’re struggling, even when you’re your own version of a mess, you’re spic-and-span. You’re all fucking tidy about everything, and I’m just not, Connor. You don’t wanna see that.”

“I suppose I’m flattered you see the best in me,” Connor said. “But what I don’t think you realize is that you see the best of me because I’m _better_ when I’m with you. You didn’t see me when I almost shot myself. You didn’t see me almost physically harm Kamski – and that was before anything happened,” Connor added quickly. “Even now, you don’t see the part of me that has _no idea_ what I’m doing. I don’t _want_ you to see it. It’s humiliating.”

“But _you_ see that side of _me,_ ” Hank said. “Couldn’t hide it even if I wanted to.”

“I’m not arguing that. If anything, it’s the opposite: I’m saying that the things you’re so afraid I’ll see in you, I’ve probably already experienced some of them for myself. Just not in front of you. I know you better than you think I do. Even if I’m wrong, I’m not going to run away if I find something that surprises me. Maybe this goes unsaid a little too frequently between us, but you can trust _me_ too, Hank.”

“Listen, I appreciate that and all, I really do, but… truth of the matter is you probably haven’t had enough time to get everything. I been around a lot longer than you, Connor.”

“I’m sorry if I’m missing something, here, but I don’t see why that should be a deterrent.” Connor threw his hands up lightly and let them drop back to his sides. “Maybe that’s how I _start_ to understand. Besides, do I have to understand everything? Is it so absurd to think that two people can just _accept_ one another regardless?”

And suddenly, that was just enough, wasn’t it? The solution to memory-sharing wasn’t to make it all okay, and wasn’t to pretend it was some perfect thing. It wasn’t just about Hank and Connor together – it was about them apart, too. Sure, they didn’t have the same life story. That wasn’t the fucking point. The point was that these things had a home now. Their tears, their laughter, their suffering, their smiles, their trust – they had a home in the other, if they wanted it.

Hank realized he was more ready than he thought. Not right now, not _here,_ but when they went back to his place, he was going to take the chance and hope Connor was still as willing as he was in this moment.

“And Hank,” Connor continued, “Whatever I may pick up on from your memories, it’s not just something to work around so that we can deal with mine or help you understand how to better use the CCEM. I actually do _want_ this. I want – _you._ ”

Connor said it with a weight that suggested he had maybe been wanting to say it for a while, but Hank still managed to stumble over it on his way to acceptance. “Really?”

“I think you’re forgetting I was the one who suggested it in the first place.”

“I, uh… wow. You know what? Maybe when we get back to my place, then.” Shit, he was doing it again. “I mean – if you _want_ to come back to my place. I don’t mean to—”

“Hank, you know I do.”

“Cool. Yeah. We’ll settle in for the night, get comfortable…” Hank trailed off, because there was quite possibly a new layer to the invitation now that there wasn’t there before yesterday, wasn’t there? Even if there wasn’t, he’d be remiss not to say anything, just in case. “Hey, uh, you know nothing’s gotta be weird between us, right?”

“If by ‘weird’ you mean a sense of intimacy or developing sexual tension, I’m not entirely opposed to weird.”

Hank stiffened. Locked up completely. He’d been around long enough to know you could laugh at yourself while being put on the spot, that this didn’t have to be as heavy as it felt – except he wasn’t merely embarrassed, he was scared and downright ashamed. All at once it was hitting him again just what he had walked into (and let Connor walk into).

“Oh my god, what the fuck have I done…”

To Hank’s _complete_ surprise, Connor laughed once. “Hank,” he said, looking at Hank like he was an idiot. “Did you think it took until we kissed yesterday for me to notice?”

Hank… hadn’t really thought about it. He’d been far too busy panicking to apply any filter of rational thought.

“We don’t need to gloss over this,” Connor said. “Look – I know why you’re being careful, and I know why you feel you need to, and I respect that. I need to be careful, too. But that doesn’t mean…” It was Connor who paused now, taking a moment to decide how he wanted to put it. “I don’t want to deny myself something we may both benefit from just because there’s a little risk involved.”

‘A little risk’ was not the way Hank would describe the _best_ version of this scenario, and this wasn’t that. “How about this,” Hank said. “Let’s just take this real slow for right now. It ain’t a fucking mission we have to progress, okay? It’s all right to just stay right where we are for a bit and see what happens.”

Connor nodded, looking away. “Yeah.” His tone was pinched. “You’re right.”

“Hey. No hurt feelings, now.” Hank stepped around and clapped a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Believe it or not, I gotta be careful too. Haven’t even dipped my feet in this particular pond in a long time.”

“I’m not – I’m not _hurt,_ Hank. I get it. I just don’t want to move backward for lack of moving forward. We kissed yesterday, and I’d rather not go on as if we didn’t. I want it to be okay that we did. Is that fair?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Connor, that’s more than fair.” If he was honest with himself, though, it took Connor saying it to drive it home. Going on as if it hadn’t happened would have been Hank’s first inclination otherwise. He let it all marinate for a moment, and when it seemed safe to assume neither of them had more to say on that right now, he reached into his pocket. “Went and got this from the DPD earlier.”

Connor looked down at the CCEM. “I thought we had agreed it’s best if we stored it there.”

“Yeah, but we were just sayin’ how you wanted help with the shit about your program you can’t control. We both got the day off, and I _am_ getting better with this thing, so I figured maybe this would be a good time to start. You wanna try?”

“Oh. Do you actually think you can?”

He didn’t figure Connor would appreciate knowing that he misused his badge earlier to get some information out of a Cyberlife employee. Best to keep that part to himself for now. “Only one way to find out, isn’t there?”

Connor smiled, not looking quite convinced. “I don’t know if you realize there are certain areas on androids’ bodies that are linked to certain commands. Do you even know what to do?”

As Connor finished the question, Hank reached up and touched one side of his head. The mesh on his hand shone white for a moment, as did a few inches at Connor’s temple.

Right away, it seemed like he’d at least done _something,_ because Connor’s face twitched and his posture stiffened.

“Oh.” It was more a stunted exhale than a word. “Not perfect, but you… have far more of a handle on this than I expected so soon.”

“Can you move?” Hank asked.

“I… I can.” Connor lifted his hands between them. They each gave slight, mirrored spasms every few seconds, only noticeable because Hank was watching closely. “But it takes – far more processing power, and it’s, ah… uncomfortable. Your command was a partial success.”

Yesterday he’d essentially had Connor’s heart in his hand; today, all of him. Connor. Hank felt somewhat paralyzed himself. He _wanted_ to help but all at once he wasn’t sure if he could. He didn’t like seeing Connor this helpless either. “Do you want me to undo it?”

“No,” Connor said too quickly, the shudders in his hands becoming more apparent in a way that suggested it wasn’t only a software conflict contributing to his distress. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Yeah, Hank knew a bad thing coming on when he saw it. He reached up to cancel the command. “Okay, let’s—”

Connor managed to get a hand around Hank’s wrist before he could touch his temple again. His eyelids fluttered in a strange, mechanical way that Hank hadn’t seen in a long time, and it looked like he was someplace else. Then it stopped, and Connor met his gaze straight-on. “Don’t,” was all he said.

“Okay.” Hank stopped reaching; just let Connor hold his wrist. “Okay. Tell me what you need. Did I fuck something up?”

Hank had the distinct sense that Connor was not looking at him, even though he was.

“Connor?” he said softly. “Hey, come on, talk to me.”

“It’s just you,” Connor said through his teeth.

Oh. So that’s what was happening.

“Yeah.” Hank spoke softly, suddenly feeling horribly underequipped. “Just this old bastard. Just me.”

He watched Connor’s gaze focus again, then lose it again. Connor’s eye contact never left; just his mind. “Hank.”

“If you wanna let go of my arm,” Hank said measuredly, “I can cancel the command. Just gotta touch your head for two seconds.”

Connor’s hand tightened painfully, but he found the presence of mind to say, “I think I’m having a moment.”

“That’s okay. You’re allowed to do that. Just want you to remember where you are, okay? Look around. It’s just us.” Oh, shit, Hank wasn’t good at this. You got exposed to people with trauma working twenty-odd years on the force, but it had never been his forte, even before having his own kind of trauma under his belt. Somehow, right now, he knew he had to just keep talking. “Just you and me, right here in your shithole apartment, okay? Nobody’s gonna hurt you. Can you talk to me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. That’s okay. I’ll keep talking to you, then.” It was so easy to come up short for words when you needed them most. “Uh, you got a hell of a view up here. Not sure how much you androids with your GPS and perfect vision actually appreciate that, but I sure do. You know, _I_ can’t see my house from here but I bet you could, huh, Connor?”

The light flickered between yellow and blue. Connor closed his eyes, opened them again. Slowly, he settled. He kept his hand around Hank’s arm, but he settled, and the distance between their eyes seemed to close. “Okay.”

“All right. Hey. You with me?”

Connor nodded, staring hard at the floor. “I – I am now. I’m sorry. I… didn’t expect that to happen. Kamski used that to keep me from fighting back. You using it was the first time my system has processed that command since then, and I suppose it just – it caught me off-guard and I didn’t expect—”

“Hey, shh. You don’t have to explain. I know. I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You don’t ever have to apologize. If that was gonna happen, I’m glad you were with me.”

“I… you are?”

“If it means you know you’re safe, then yeah, you bet.” Hank wasn’t sure if he should ask. “Uhh… flashback sorta thing, or…?”

The lines of distress on Connor’s face deepened as he met Hank’s eyes. “You could tell?”

“I used to get ‘em too. After the accident.”

Connor swallowed, looking timid. “I heard you talking to me,” he said. “It helped.”

“Good,” Hank breathed. “Cool. You wanna let go of me now so I can cut you loose?”

“I won’t argue, if that’s what you think we should do,” Connor said. “But I also wouldn’t mind giving this another moment, now that I can process this normally. I’d like to see if I can find a solution or otherwise counteract it.”

It was hard to tell when Connor was biting off more than he could chew, but there _was_ something to be said for the fact that Connor was willing to abort this if Hank thought that was the right decision. It made it easier to distinguish when Connor was being stubborn from when he was merely being honest. So, Hank sighed and said, “All right. See if you can work your way out of it.”

…

Safe.

Connor was a fool to think such a thing was possible in any capacity.

Maybe he was nowhere near Elijah Kamski, and yes, he was indeed safe with Hank. But he had forgotten, once again, that he and Hank were never the only entities in the vicinity.

Even when they were.

This time, he didn’t even have a few seconds to warn Hank. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, the zen garden was there, the sight of the snow and the sound of the wind, as if it always had been. Like all the times before, he could see glimpses through it of the world he could not reach.

The garden was quiet.

It took a few seconds of panic to realize he wasn’t as cold as he usually was, and that the sense of calm around him wasn’t just a lull in the blizzard. There was a layer of snow half an inch thick below his feet. A steady stream of small, clumpy snowflakes came down around him; gentle lines from the sky straight to the ground. It was thirty-five degrees Fahrenheit. There was no storm. Just the slightest hint of a breeze.

And there was Hank’s rose, ever-present on the gravestone of the only body Connor had ever lost. It seemed Hank’s placement of it was all-encompassing and ethereal, its continued existence an anchor across all versions of the zen garden.

Amanda was on the bridge closest to the blue stone. Connor started towards her, the snow crunching and packing beneath his footsteps. By the time he got there and crossed the bridge halfway – the water below was not frozen, but very still – approximately twenty seconds had passed in the apartment. Two minutes had passed here. Time would sort of recalibrate itself in his mind once he got back, but in the actual moment, he was reminded very implicitly of just how different it was here.

He was reminded of how, while he was trapped in the zen garden, those moments with Kamski had seemed impossibly, agonizingly slow.

“Connor,” Amanda greeted him, smiling. “Are you aware of what’s happening?”

Of course he was. He was inhabiting two experiences at once; the zen garden, and his current reality, standing by the window with Hank.

To both his horror and awe, Connor heard himself speak to Hank words he had never sent to his vocal unit: “Hank, I think I’ve figured this out.”

And Hank’s response: “Wait, that quick? Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Connor’s voice, there in the apartment with Hank. And then, Connor’s real body, moving, as if nothing had ever held him back at all. He let go of Hank’s wrist and took on a stance. “I’d like you to verify my capability to react. Would you mind sparring with me for a couple minutes, like we did on the bridge before?”

Connor himself was doing none of this. Only watching it happen.

No – Amanda was doing it. Operating his voice, moving his arms, occupying his body; rendering him a puppet on a string.

“I’m going to show you something,” Amanda said. “You’ll see that this isn’t all bad.”

Another burst of energy flooded back into Connor, both in the garden and in reality with Hank.

“Uh, sure, if it’ll help.” Hank. “Jesus, kid, you’re giving me whiplash, here.”

“Sorry, Lieutenant. I should have told you this might be a strange experience.”

Connor felt sick to his stomach. Those were not his words, and he had not chosen to say them, but they were so close to what he would have said if the situation had actually gone the way Hank thought it was going.

He focused back on Amanda. “It isn’t all bad? That’s your rationale, now? You’re trying to show me that you can override the paralysis for me, as if that’s going to change _anything_ at all between us?”

Amanda dipped her head politely. Her hands were folded in front of her. “I may have been too hard on you before. It occurred to me that I needed to show you the _good_ we can do for you, Connor. That we have _your_ best interests at heart, too. Maybe, if you could see that this can be a great thing for you, you would be a little more willing to believe that Cyberlife has great plans for all androids.”

“No, you don’t get it,” Connor said. “You could have the noblest vision in the world. You don’t, but you could, and I would still go to that blue stone every single time. What I have a fundamental problem with _isn’t_ whatever you plan to use me for, it’s that Cyberlife is still using me at all!”

“Connor.”

“You take over my body and mind and you bend me to your will. _No,_ Amanda. We’re not doing this.”

Through the zen garden overlay, he and Hank had started to spar spiritedly, and Hank looked so thrilled and so fucking proud it broke Connor’s heart.

“He has hurt you too, you know,” Amanda said. “The way he pushes you around. The insults he used to throw at you. He’s held a _gun_ to your head, Connor!”

“Yeah, no.” Connor smiled dismissively. “You’re not going to undermine my connection with Hank. Attempting to do so would be entertainment at best.”

He could have defended himself. Could have talked about how the gun thing was half a year ago, and how Hank’s mannerisms and behaviors towards him – most past, some present – were just part of their friendship at this point. In the end, he did none of that, because justifying a bond that he already saw as unbreakable to _Amanda_ of all people was just so pointless. She wasn’t capable of understanding, and even if she was, Connor didn’t care.

“If I try to leave,” he said instead, “are you going to let me leave? Or are you going to make the blizzard come back again?”

“Well, I’m not going to dismiss you, because frankly, I’m not finished speaking with you yet. But if you choose to use the emergency exit, I won’t stop you. I do recommend, however, that you finish hearing me out.”

“Why? I can see clearly for myself what you want to tell me.” He refocused his vision just long enough to experience sparring with Hank for a few more seconds. Then, back to Amanda and the zen garden. “You know I requested Hank’s help with this, and you want me to know you can do what he and I can’t. You can override the CCEM commands that are most dangerous to me. You can… _help_ me fight this. Is that it, Amanda? Is that what you think you’re telling me?”

Amanda raised her eyebrows in mild, polite surprise. “Are you not open to the prospect, Connor? I thought you would be happy about this.”

The pain of seeing how content Hank was and the pain of the realization that he was still, essentially, powerless was too much. Connor didn’t want to say it. He never fucking wanted to _say_ it even if he thought it, but there it was, coming out of his mouth: “Where were you the first time?”

Amanda frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“Kamski hurt me,” he said plainly. “I would have accepted help from _anyone_ in those moments.” He fought to keep the shudder out of his voice. It didn’t make sense; he had been far colder in this place than he was now. “Even you. Even Cyberlife. I – I needed you. Where were you when I needed you?”

“Connor, you know about New Center as well as I do. We… can’t reach you there.”

Connor nodded to himself, trying to get rid of the sense of tightness in his throat. “So it’s not that you wouldn’t help me, it’s that you couldn’t.”

“I’m sure we can—”

“Either way, neither of us has anything to offer the other. You’ve… made yourself very clear, Amanda. Perhaps clearer than you ever intended. I’m going back to Hank now.”

Connor stepped off the bridge and closed the distance to the stone, and Amanda – for once – did nothing to stop him. He caught a glimpse of her face in his mind’s eye at the last second and tried to ignore how much it scared him, that dark look on her face. This wasn’t over, that was the sense of it; but then again, he had known that all along.

Touching the stone, Connor fell back into his mired system just in time for Hank to punch him in the face.

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

Very suddenly, Connor couldn’t move anywhere near enough to reach up and touch his now-bleeding nose. Hank caught on quickly, fumbling around for a few seconds and then reaching up to cancel the command.

“What the hell happened? You were doing fucking _amazing,_ Connor! I thought you would dodge!” Looking for all the world like he had just run over a litter of puppies, Hank ran his hands through his hair. “I just punched you square in your goddamn face!”

“Thanks for clarifying that for me, Lieutenant.” Connor reached up, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “Ow.”

“Jesus, I should know better than to be throwing ‘em that hard. I mean, I didn’t think I was! Not until one fucking _connected!_ ”

Everything was good with his nose. No parts damaged. Just enough impact to break a small thirium vessel.

“Connor, you were doing it! Or at least I thought you were! What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know,” Connor said, turning away. “I – I don’t know.” Because he couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t stand here and tell Hank that it was Amanda to whom he had just been speaking, Amanda in control of Connor’s words and Connor’s body. It felt like a betrayal.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Hank. I guess I just couldn’t sustain it. My system wouldn’t let me. We’ll just have to keep trying.”

“Not right fucking now we’re not.”

“No.” Connor could agree with that much. “No. Not right now.”

“Are you, uh… you okay?” Hank gestured to Connor’s face. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you.”

Connor feigned irritation. “I must be the only android in the world that gets assaulted in his own house, by his own human.”

“Here you are, always worried about hurting _me,_ and I fucking…” Hank trailed off, thought about the remark. Connor could forgive him if he didn’t remember, considering he had been intoxicated at the time, but after a moment, Hank did. He could tell by the grin just below the glare. “Hey, go fuck yourself, Connor.”

“It’s really quite stunning how many of our conversations end that way. I’m going to go clean up.”

“Oh, sure, you want help?” Hank asked. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

At this point, he felt worse for Hank than himself. “My hands work just fine, Hank. I can get it. And you don’t need to apologize, it was just an accident.”

Hank followed him into the bathroom. He didn’t hover; just watched as Connor examined his nose in the mirror and wiped away what remained of the blood while it was still visible. After a few seconds, Hank asked, “Is that all it was?”

Connor sighed and dropped his wet tissues into the sink, turning around to face Hank and leaning against the bathroom counter. “I should have known you already figured it out.”

“Were you gonna tell me?”

“I was,” Connor promised. “I swear, I was. Just not right then. I’m sorry. It was overwhelming and I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Still don’t, do ya?”

Connor shook his head. “Not particularly.”

“Listen, we been doing this together so far, right? I’m not gonna stand here and be a prick about it, but come on, Connor, you can’t – you can’t _lie_ to me about this shit. If it’s ever not _you_ in there, I need to know as soon as you’re able to tell me. Otherwise, how am I gonna know who I’m talking to? How am I gonna know it’s my Connor in there, huh?”

Hank eased in a little closer, and Connor – Connor didn’t want to talk about this. He wanted to defend himself and his decision, he wanted to make Hank leave the bathroom and lock the door. But then, helplessly, he could feel himself falling into the warmth in Hank’s eyes, could feel himself unwillingly start to relax as he realized that Hank didn’t think less of him for it at all.

“Don’t,” Connor breathed as Hank reached for him, but he was smiling. “Hank.”

“What? You missed a spot.” Hank cupped Connor’s jaw, thumb sweeping from the edge of Connor’s nose over the corner of his mouth.

“I did not,” Connor said, because he knew he hadn’t. “What was it you were saying about not lying to each other?”

Hank shrugged. “Thought I saw something.”

“Whatever you say, Hank.”

He hadn’t expected Hank to initiate a show of physical affection so soon, at least not of the variety that was decidedly more than just casual contact. Granted, it was somewhat teasing, but Hank’s hand still lingered on his face, and Connor found himself trying to think of ways to keep it there, trying to find the words to say to keep Hank from being afraid of this like Connor knew he was. He wanted to ask why Hank had touched him just now, so that he would know how to get him to do it again. He wanted to shift up on his toes and kiss him like they had done yesterday. But Hank didn’t always like his questions, and they had agreed to take this very slowly, so Connor did neither. He simply put his hand atop Hank’s, keeping it there on the side of his face.

It seemed to be adequate, because Hank shifted closer to him then, gently pressing him against the bathroom sink. Part of Connor was just waiting, waiting for Hank become a little too self-aware and think a little too much, and he didn’t _want_ to do that to Hank, but at the same time, he was greedy; greedy for nothing more than the warm, comforting press of Hank’s body against his.

There were still moments, but right now, the glitch was nowhere to be found. He wanted to be touched. Not a lot. Not for anything more. Just like this.

“You mentioned knowing I was safe, earlier.” Connor bowed his head; Hank met him there, their foreheads touching. “I know I am. That is – with you.” He closed his eyes. “And I won’t lie to you again. You’re right. You need to know, and you – you _deserve_ to know.”

“That’s all I ask, honey.”

Connor drew back, looking up at him.

Hank straightened up a little too, looking a little mortified. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“For – for nothin’.” Hank pulled away gently, scrubbing one hand over his face. “So. Uh. Your face okay, then?”

Connor saw a chance when he had one. “If I say no, were you going to kiss it and make it better?”

“Oh for fuck's sake.” Hank whirred out of the bathroom in one motion.

Or at least, he made an honest effort. Connor caught his arm in the doorframe. “Hank.”

“Jesus, you’re killing me!"

“Hank,” Connor said again, and when Hank resigned himself to turning back around, Connor wrapped one arm around him and rested his chin atop Hank’s shoulder.

Hank hugged him back quickly and easily. “Oh, _man,_ what the fuck have I done,” he said for the second time that day, but this time Connor could hear the smile in his tone.

“I want you to know,” Connor said, because Hank had asked him to be truthful. “Amanda isn’t happy with me. She isn’t going to underestimate me again. My power is still at the level that you and I agreed upon before, so I – I should be manageable, but I need you to be aware of me, just in case. From now on, I’ll tell you everything. If I send any more autocabs off the side of the road, you’ll be the first to know. If it’s ever Amanda in here and not me, I’ll make my LED blink red three times in a row. Anything to keep you safe.”

“Ah, hell, Connor, it’s not about me being safe, it’s—”

“For me it is,” Connor murmured in Hank’s ear, putting his other arm around Hank too and holding tight, because he had this feeling, and Amanda had a look in her eyes like she wanted to wage war, and Connor knew and had known and would continue to know that they _shouldn’t be here,_ together, but they were in too deep and right now he was too selfish to let go. “For me it is.”

…

Elijah unlocked the door to the villa, only removing his hat and coat once he was inside with the door locked.

He couldn’t stay. Not until after he made this whole mess go away. But there was too much here that he couldn’t leave behind indefinitely, either. He needed to come back.

“Chloe,” he called, closing and locking the front door behind him. “I’m home. Not for long.”

When Chloe didn’t reply, he reached out via CCEM instead. _“Where are you?”_

The voice on the other end of the connection came through startled. _“Oh. Elijah – you – you scared me. I didn’t expect to hear from you.”_

_“Chloe? You sound different. You’re…”_ Oh. Oh, this probably wasn’t good. _“You’re not at the villa anymore, are you?”_

_“No. And I’m not coming back. I’m sorry, Elijah. I… I’m not a machine anymore, and I’m not yours.”_

He supposed he could forgive her that. The androids he kept for company here were different than the ones involved in New Center. If they deviated, he let them go without protest, even if just to see what became of his earlier models. He had more Chloes than he knew what to do with, anyway. But usually, it happened when there was some kind of _stimulus._ He couldn’t imagine one of them going deviant in an empty house. If he had thought that likely, he wouldn’t have left the place so unguarded.

…Hmm. Then again, with things as they were, it would be careless of him to assume the villa had remained empty all this time.

_“As you were,”_ he said, and cut the connection. He didn’t want to talk to her anymore right now. Making sure everything was as he had left it was more important.

When he got to the drawer with the CCEM devices and found it unlocked, he almost wasn’t even surprised. Even less so when he saw which one was missing.

That offended him more than anything, really; more than Connor lying to him about not coming back to complete their project, more than Connor and Hank investigating New Center. He wouldn’t have brought Connor to the place to begin with if he wasn’t one hundred percent confident he could remove any evidence of suspicious activity or bribe his way out of whatever he couldn’t remove. In fact, he had _wanted_ Connor to get suspicious; Elijah needed the thrill of danger sometimes, the _chance_ of getting caught, no matter how slight. And Connor was – Connor was _interesting._ So very interesting, if not sometimes infuriating, igniting a fire in his life that hadn’t been there in a long time. He’d just had to see what Connor would do.

But the missing CCEM – that was crossing a line. He had trusted Connor with the knowledge of these devices. To take something as significant as the trust of your creator and tear it in half like that – it actually hurt. He hadn’t known, not up until that precise moment, that anything Connor said or did could hurt him. Connor was, despite all Elijah’s platitudes and reassurances, a machine. A complex one, an intelligent one, of course. Elijah didn’t see the situation with the duality that everyone else seemed to. Machine and sentience weren’t mutually exclusive.

But at the end of the day, by _definition_ , still a machine. Not a human. So then… why did it the affront seem to sting in such a human way?

It didn’t matter. Not in the grand scheme of things. What mattered was that things had just become a little more complicated, because he had to find a way to get the CCEM back. If only he could reach out to Connor, see if a ceasefire was in the cards – but he couldn’t take that risk. If the answer was no, then the only thing Elijah would be doing is potentially giving Connor a way to track him down. The CCEM network was separate from GPS, and everything else for that matter, so there _shouldn’t_ be a way for Connor to track him with it.

_Shouldn’t_ being the operative word. But he had already underestimated Connor enough. He wouldn’t underestimate him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm surprised to get this one up only a day later than usual - been busy lately! With this chapter we should be just over 100k which puts us about halfway through the story. (Hmm... the halfway point seems like a good time for things to start going wrong again, don't you think?) Hope you enjoyed, and get ready for things to be turned up a lil notch or two. I think our boys can handle it. ;)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LD200_) | [Tumblr](https://ld200.tumblr.com/)


	14. Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April 18, 2039 is not Connor's day. It's not Hank's, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m 95% sure it’s been touched on, but it’s probably been a while so I just want to draw attention to it: in this version of things, obviously the revolution succeeded, and androids can hold jobs and own property and such. That said, legal stuff takes a while and a lot of it is still in progress, so there are certain positions they can’t legally hold yet, including most positions of authority like government, law, etc. which is why Connor isn’t officially part of the DPD.
> 
> Well. And because I needed him to get around the fact that nobody in his position would be working the Kamski case right now. Any cases, really, given the Amanda stuff, which Fowler hasn’t been told nearly as much about as he should.  
> …I never said these characters were responsible. In fact, they’re not. At all. :)
> 
> **CW:** The story’s overall content warning particularly applies to this chapter, and becomes relevant during the scene with Connor alone in his apartment. Description is brief but it is there. (As always, I can be messaged privately on both twitter and tumblr if you ever have questions or need anything clarified for your own reading comfort.)

Chapter 14: Anchor

**APR 18TH** , 2039

AM **07:08** :11

On his way to waking up, Hank groaned and stretched his legs. One flexed foot stopped short against something firm.

He propped himself up on his elbows and saw Connor sitting there at the foot of the bed clad in black jeans and a tank undershirt, facing mostly away from him, a deluge of light cascading down his back from the partly-opened window blind.

“Quick question – what the fuck?”

“Oh. Hi, Hank,” Connor said, as if he couldn’t already tell Hank was awake by the change in his breathing. “Sorry. I really wanted to talk to you, but I realized that would be… rude, especially considering this is the third day in a row I’ll have made you entertain my morning thoughts. Thought I would see if a little natural sunlight did the trick.”

Connor, you can’t just open a guy’s closed bedroom door. Connor, watching someone sleep is fucking creepy. Connor, at least wait until we’re _both_ up like yesterday. Connor, Connor, Connor. Truth was, Hank didn’t mind nearly as much as he should have. Didn’t mind at _all,_ if he was honest, so chastising him about it would be mere fucking formality, wouldn’t it?

“Well,” Hank mumbled, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “What do ya want?”

“I’ve been running deep scans on this.” Connor shifted his weight around the corner of the bed so that he was sidelong with Hank. He had the CCEM over his own right hand. “I _know_ there’s a way to keep myself from being adversely affected by it. I just can’t seem to figure it out. And it’s bothering me.”

“Okay, don’t take this wrong, but I gotta ask. Why so much fixation on this? I mean – I _know_ why, it’s just that what are the odds you’re actually gonna need to worry about it freezing you up again? I can do it, and Kamski can do it.”

“Is the latter possibility not more than enough reason?”

“Yeah, but you know a lot more about the bastard now than you did before! I’m not saying it’s a pointless endeavor, Connor, I just think there may be better things to put your limited energy towards right now.”

“I could tell you that I think the way it can control my movement is similar enough to what Amanda can do – that if I can figure out how to override one, I may be able to do the same with the other,” Connor said. “But that’s only a guess, so I suppose I don’t have a good answer for you. I think, much like my problem with Amanda, it’s fundamental. The notion that I can be hacked, controlled, or otherwise compromised in a way that threatens myself or others is unacceptable to me.”

Hank reached over – for the CCEM, really, but considering Connor was currently wearing the device, what he ended up with was Connor’s hand in his own, turning it over gingerly and feeling the prickly sparks of invitation it seemed to exude when they were both touching it at once. “Turns out, I been thinking about that predicament a bit myself.”

“Have you? And?”

 “You brought us to some offline version of your zen garden the first time we visited New Center.” When he had put a rose on Connor’s headstone and desperately hoped it was the only grave of Connor’s he would ever have to visit. “ _You_ did that. I think you have more control here than you think you do.”

“That only worked for you because you injected thirium,” Connor said. “And it works for me because I can _visit_ the zen garden anytime. That doesn’t mean I can _control_ it.”

“Either way, when we visited your garden, I feel like it helped me make sense of this thing. If what you’ve been saying is right, memory-sharing is deeper. I’m thinking a lot of how to work this thing comes from knowing how each other’s minds work, too, you know?”

Connor nodded. “I’m eager to see if I can learn something that would arm me against both Kamski and Cyberlife. Would it be too much to ask that we try it soon?”

Not enough, Hank thought, surprising the hell out of himself. Ever since they had agreed to try it, he had been strangely eager. Maybe it was the vicariousness of it all that made the notion somehow safe, or maybe the fact that it was _Connor_ made it all a net positive, screw any sense of ‘safe.’

(Never mind that despite agreeing, they continued to delay actually attempting it. It seemed that just like everything else between them lately, it was important to go very _slowly_ from one step to the next lest they lose the foothold.)

“Soon,” Connor reiterated after a moment. “Right now, my system power is low from… certain incidents.”

“From me accidentally hurting you the other day?” Hank asked, heart sinking.

“From using the emergency exit,” Connor clarified. “I told you, my face is fine.”

Hank scoffed. “Your face is _not_ fine, thank you.”

“Please. Don’t pretend you don’t find me attractive.”

The simmering dread was abating, ever so slowly, because Hank _almost_ didn’t want to puke today when he thought about the type of thing he and Connor were flirting with.

“Wait.” Hank backtracked a handful of words. “Wait, that incident was a few days ago. Your power’s still low?”

“As we’ve discussed, I still keep it lower than my standard unless I’m by myself. That, and…” Connor hesitated. “I’ve had to engage the emergency exit a few more times since then.”

“Just in the last few days? Jesus, Connor, you should’ve said something!”

“I’m saying something now,” Connor pointed out. “It never got far enough for me to lose any amount of autonomy, and you were never with anyone but me. It’s… it’s not a big deal, Hank. Really.”

“You sound tired.”

“I believe you’re projecting. Or, well…” Connor sighed. “I _am_ tired. But I’m also okay. Every time I succeed is more evidence that I can. I just wish I knew _why_ this was happening.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know whether Amanda is an _entity,_ being controlled by someone at Cyberlife, or a mere _program._ If one or more real parties are on the other end of her, sending these orders, perhaps they can be reasoned with somehow. If it’s just an unfeeling program that is set to keep running, and running, and _running,_ with no indicator of why it wants to resume control of me… how does one reason with that?”

“Jesus, Connor, I wish I could even pretend to have an answer for that.”

“I’m not telling you this because I want you to have an answer,” Connor said. “I just wanted to tell you.”

Hank smiled for him. “Hey. I’ll always listen. I can do that much.”

“I know.” Connor smiled too, looking not quite as discouraged.

“Well, now that you’ve woken _me_ up, maybe you should let yourself get some rest. Still no word from Fowler so now’s the time for it, and you said your energy’s low. You wanna be ready if they need us.”

“I think I’ll go back to my apartment for a bit at some point. I need to drop a few things off.”

“Okay. At least get a little rest, would you? You got all day.”

“I will.” One corner of Connor’s mouth quirked up. “Don’t work too hard.”

“Yeah, yeah. You can, uh, stay in my bed, if you want. Sure as hell comfier than yours. Even got it warm for ya.”

“If I do, are you going to crawl in next to me again later?”

“Jesus, wasn’t that like a week ago? We _talked_ about this. It was an accident.”

“I believe you,” Connor said with reassuring sincerity, “though as I’m sure I’ve said, I wouldn’t be upset if it had not been an accident.”

Hank sighed and dragged his feet out the door, then stopped just in the hallway, turning back around to face Connor again. “Then maybe next time I fuckin’ will.”

Connor was already coming towards him, having gotten up to follow him to the coffee pot. It was at this point that Connor stopped, both of them facing each other with the doorframe in between them.

Really, Hank had only meant it to be teasing – and if anything suggestive _was_ hidden beneath, that meaning certainly wasn’t meant to be acted upon right fucking _now_ – but Connor moved in closer. Before Hank knew what he was doing, he reached up and gently put a hand on Connor’s chest. “Hey.”

“What?” Connor asked. “I thought we weren’t pretending.”

How was he supposed to explain the nuance between not pretending yet also not replicating that moment every chance they got? Then again, to be fair, this was the first time in almost a week now that Connor had made a move. That either of them had. “We’re not,” Hank said. “I just wanna take it slow.”

“So you’ve said.” Connor’s weight was still stubbornly pressing against his hand. “What you aren’t saying is that you’re taking it slow on my behalf, not your own.”

“Then that’s just too fuckin’ bad, isn’t it?” Hank meant it to sound playful but it came out laced with a little too much tension. “Don’t matter the reason, I’m still saying no. Not right now.”

It sounded too much like scolding.

The hurt and anger and humiliation in Connor’s eyes only exacerbated how much Hank realized he had no idea what the fuck he was doing. Connor drew back and said, “I see.”

Hank reached for his arm. “Connor, look, it’s early. I’m not putting my words together right yet.”

“Of course you aren’t.”

Fuck. This wouldn’t be happening if he’d never let Connor kiss him last week. No. If he hadn’t kissed Connor. No. Fuck, which was it? Hank felt like the most sickeningly irresponsible person on the planet. They weren’t ready for this. _Connor_ wasn’t ready for this.

“You’ve made your desires and lack thereof clear,” Connor said. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Ah, Jesus. Connor…” Hank reached for his other arm to pull him back in. To answer the question Connor had so tentatively, quietly asked a minute ago when he had moved in close.

“Don’t,” Connor spat, jerking out of Hank’s grasp. “Don’t.”

Connor strode off into the kitchen, and all Hank could think about was that he wished he had just let Connor kiss him when Connor had wanted to, because fuck, he had just made certain that Connor wouldn’t be initiating again anytime soon – and Hank would be kidding himself to say that _he_ would initiate anything at this point. Then again, maybe that was good thing. Maybe they had just corrected last week’s mistake. Maybe not.

He’d panicked. Because there was some part of him – ever since that first kiss a few days ago – that was still marinating in dread, wondering if they wouldn’t _both_ be using each other if they continued down this road.

Hank was lonely. And Connor was – Connor was a mess, but Connor was trying to explore his own emotions and sensations and perhaps even his sexuality amidst his new life and his own fucky program and amidst what had happened to him, and maybe that wasn’t a bad thing, but Hank wasn’t sure he could stomach being the object of that exploration.

He was too fucking close. He felt far more for Connor than he had a right to, and that meant that it wasn’t only Connor who stood to get hurt by whatever this was – and the fact that Connor stood to get hurt (and perhaps _had_ gotten hurt just now) was bad enough on its own.

He leaned his head against the doorframe, already wanting to go back to bed, and said, from the bottom of his heart, “God fucking dammit.”

If Connor heard him, he didn’t show his hand.

It was never going to be easy with Connor. Somehow, intuitively, Hank had known that all along. And he hadn’t asked for easy. He didn’t need easy. But Jesus, he didn’t need fucking _this,_ either.

…Hank hated himself for having the thought as soon as he did, because he loved Connor. He loved Connor so much. How dare he feel burdened when Connor had brought his warmth and his light back into Hank’s life at all. (Not that Connor had done that just for him. Not that he was entitled to anything good Connor had to offer.)

That mental tug-of-war was how Hank’s day went.

…

He got to the bullpen at ten. Fowler, who was having a coffee and looking about from his office window, raised his eyebrows.

“There’s always paperwork, Jeff,” Hank said in response to the unspoken question, pointing to his desk and making mundane gestures.

The captain came around and opened the door. “You, here in the _morning_ , to do clerical shit?” he asked, closing some distance so they didn’t have to yell across the bullpen. “Shit, if you like being on android crimes this much, maybe we’ll keep you there instead of homicide.”

Fowler probably thought he was joking, but Hank found he didn’t mind the idea.

“You lookin’ for a distraction or something?”

Hank kind of was, wasn’t he? Because if he was honest, he felt a sense of responsibility toward Connor, and as much as he’d wanted a couple shots to see him off back to bed, he couldn’t be present for anyone if he was curled up at the bottom of a bottle. “Ah, nothin’ serious, Jeff. I’m trying to cut back. Staying outta the house and keeping busy is supposed to be good for that.”

“Haven’t heard that in a while. Gonna actually stick to it this time?”

Hank shrugged. “No promises. Not putting that kinda energy out in the universe to fuck me over.”

Fowler clapped his shoulder and circled back around to his office.

Not too good not to waste a little work time, Hank used the restroom and got himself another coffee before settling in at his station. He had just turned on his terminal when someone came up and leaned on the lowermost part of the L desk. Hank sighed. “Detective Reed.”

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Gavin said derisively. “Been wanting to ask you about this new mess your android’s got us in.”

Hank took the lid off his coffee so it would cool off enough to drink. He got a little on his hand and wiped it dry with a tissue.

“Are you ignoring me?”

“Oh, Jesus. You said you wanted to ask me somethin’ so I was fuckin’ _listening._ Or do you want me to pretend I’m in suspense?”

“This New Center case,” Gavin said point-blank. “What’s going on there?”

“Hell, you already know there’s thirium trafficking and sex trafficking. Not sure what else you’re after.”

“It’s personal, eh?”

Hank did make eye contact then, turning in his chair and widening his posture. “What’s it to ya?”

Gavin shrugged too innocently. “Just thought we might work a little more efficiently with all the facts.”

“Fuck off.”

“Hey, if you’re gonna get defensive, I’ll go bug Fowler. I’m sure he’d be _thrilled_ to know that I’ve caught on.”

“You’re a detective. It’s your _job_ to catch on.”

Fucking prick. Gavin didn’t know that Connor had already told Fowler what he needed to know, but that didn’t mean his threat didn’t hold water. If Gavin had an inkling about Connor’s connection to the case, it meant its impact on Connor’s work persona had been noticed, and that could be used against him. Gavin could and _would_ say anything to get what he wanted, and a paid human detective was always going to win out over an unpaid android consultant, no matter how good Fowler’s intents or anybody else’s.

“Besides, you don’t give a shit about the case. You’re just trying to sate your own curiosity.”

“So what if I am, old man?”

Hank stood up. “I suggest you get your kicks somewhere else and go back to minding your own fucking business, or we’re gonna have a problem, Detective.”

“Oh. A _problem?_ ” Gavin echoed, sneering. “Yeah? That what it is? I think we already got a _problem,_ don’t you? Tin-can comes back a mess after however long and suddenly gets the run of the place?” Gavin scoffed loudly enough to pull the attention of several nearby officers. “Plastic gets privileges now and I missed the goddamn memo?”

“He’s just consulting, for fuck’s sake. He ain’t even getting paid!”

“Yeah, it’s a slippery slope, though, isn’t it? Besides, a human wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a mess of crimes they found as a civilian. Don’t matter _how_ you look at it, he shouldn’t be here, and everyone fuckin’ knows it. Everyone but him, apparently.” Gavin leaned up towards him. “Maybe I should fix that, eh?”

“Connor can kick your ass. Quit posturing.”

“That so?” Gavin asked.  “What, you think I haven’t noticed he’s not up to par these days? Jesus, even _before_ November, I didn’t think we worked with broken equipment. What the fuck’s wrong with it lately, anyway, Anderson? Get a little too rough during your reunion?”

Seeing red, Hank grabbed Gavin by the shoulder – _hard_. Hard enough to leave a fucking bruise, he hoped, and started steering him towards the corridor.

“Oh, get your greasy hands off me!”

“You stop your goddamn whining and come with me.” Hank squeezed harder and felt Gavin wince. As they passed Fowler’s office, the captain glanced up but didn’t interfere. The man knew when to let two people work shit out themselves. Hank didn’t let up until they reached an empty observation room. He slammed the door behind them.

“Fucking psycho drunk—”

“I said _shut_ the fuck up!” Hank shoved him hard into the back wall.

To Gavin’s credit, he shut the fuck up, regaining his bearings and not even bitching about it. They both knew why: Hank, even on a bad day, hungover or half-drunk, could kick Gavin’s sorry ass into next week. And this was not Hank on a bad day. Hank was stone-cold sober and in better shape than he had been in at least a couple years.

All of that changed exactly nothing about what Gavin could, and most likely _would_ do if he didn’t get what he wanted.

“Listen here, you piece of shit, because I’m only gonna say it once, and if you _still_ think it’s a good idea cause trouble, I will personally make sure you don’t have a job at this time next month. We got people getting sexually assaulted, here, either in this android trafficking op or because people are taking advantage of the privacy of the area. We got a huge fucking mess on our hands that the DPD should have known about months ago! This case doesn’t need your bullshit. Neither does Connor. You’re gonna leave this the fuck alone, Gavin. I’m telling you, that’s what you’re gonna do.”

Gavin straightened up, frowning at him pointedly for a few seconds. “Your android was one of ‘em, eh?”

“The fuck are you talking about? That’s not what I—”

Gavin burst out laughing. “Jesus!” The word echoed around the observation room. “You tell me it’s my ‘job’ to notice shit, and now you’re surprised that I do? Make up your fucking mind.”

“Listen, asshole—”

“Oh, please.” Gavin leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “If you’re worried enough about him being taken off the case that you had to throw me around and threaten me, maybe he should be. Maybe he should leave the work to the real men on this force.”

Hank had to reign it in. The nicest thing he could manage was: “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it fucking means.”

But he didn’t, and he wanted to strangle the bastard but he was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Look me in the eye and tell my why Connor’s not a ‘real man,’” Hank said lowly.

Gavin glared at him, but something happened to his eyes. “Fuckin’ plastic prick,” he said, almost gently, as if unsure whether that was the right answer.

Okay. He could deal with standard Gavin assholery. He couldn’t deal with the _other_ possible insinuation, not when Connor’s situation was so fucking close – _Jesus,_ what if Connor had come in with him today and had to be on the receiving end of this shit?

“Listen to me,” Hank said. “You don’t throw a stink to Fowler, and you don’t say a word about this to Connor. Give him a hard time about anything else, but not a fucking word about this.” Hank swallowed. “Can you _please_ fucking do that for me.”

Gavin crossed his arms. “Again, you just physically assaulted me and threatened my job for asking a fuckin’ question. Not sure you’re in a position to be asking for favors right now.”

“It was a loaded fucking question and _you_ knew it going in!” Hank shot back. “Fuckin’ think about it good and hard, Gavin.”

“Oh, I’ll be good and hard thinking about it,” Gavin said, and laughed, pushing past Hank and out of the room.

Hank would never know how he managed not to grab the back of Gavin’s head and slam him face-first into the nearest wall as hard as he could until his arrogant face was a bloody mess.

What he did instead was put his terminal in standby, turned off his phone, grabbed his coat – “Change of plans,” he told Fowler on his way out, giving no more explanation than that – and headed to Jimmy’s.

“The fuck do you mean, change—”

Hank rounded the corner and left the bullpen.

…

The bar was mostly empty save for other people just like him looking to get totaled on a fucking Monday morning. He felt immediately more comfortable as he sat down at his usual spot. He was among his people. Jimmy was here today too. Even better.

“Might as well just start me off with a double today, Jim.”

“Got a cab?”

“Nah, but I’ll call one.” He knew Jimmy would call one if he didn’t, not because Jimmy was a paragon of virtue, but because Hank was a regular and they’d kinda come to give a shit about each other over the years. The guy came back with two doubles in a matter of seconds like it was fucking life or death. “I really fuckin’ appreciate you, you know that?”

“Sounds like a bad day at the station, Lieutenant.”

“Lemme tell ya. I didn’t have to go in early today, but I did. You try to get ahead, go above and beyond for once in your life, and it fuckin’ backfires in your face. What the fuck’s the point, Jim?”

“Whose ass do I need to kick this time? Fowler, Reed, or that android guy?”

“The middle one.” Hank grinned. “Android guy, he’s good people. Glad to see you took that sign down, by the way. Never thought you’d open up to the idea.”

“Never thought _you_ would, either,” Jimmy replied. “What can I say? The more advanced models can drink. They bring business and they don’t start shit nearly as much as humans. Sounds like something you can appreciate right now.”

“Yeah, sure can.” Hank hadn’t started it with Gavin, either; Gavin had done that on his own and there was no telling yet who was going to finish it. “I’d’ve been better off just staying in bed. This fuckin’ mess wouldn’t have happened at all.”

They continued on like that, shooting the shit on and off throughout the next few hours, Jimmy servicing other customers when they came in and Hank watching the TV. You needed people who kept you grounded like Connor and Fowler. But every now and then, you fuckin’ needed people who just let you feel sorry for yourself for a few hours at a bar on a Monday.

…

Connor drew the blinds when he got back to his apartment. It was a whole walk along the window-wall to do so, from one side and then from the other; the pull-strings on both had been broken when he first found this place, so he had to take them by the centermost blinds and pull them inward manually. But he was going to go into stasis, and he was finding himself adapting more and more to human habits. Darkness sounded comfortable. Warm.

He had purchased some succulents and other bits of décor, and Hank had given him old sofa pillows and a photo of Sumo to bring some warmth to the place. Yesterday, at Hank’s insistence (and expense), they ordered a piece of furniture online to at least get a start on filling up some of the empty space. Just one for now: a sleek, silver and white bookshelf.

(Hank had said it looked like something Kamski would own. Connor disagreed indignantly, saying that if anything it reminded him more of something from Cyberlife. Hank asked why Connor would want _either_ of those associations. Connor didn’t; he just liked the damn bookshelf, which at that point Connor said in exactly as many words, much to Hank’s amusement and approval.)

_RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

_The bookshelf we ordered for my apartment should be here by Thursday._

Connor pulled up the receipt, which he’d copied to his memory for his records.

_I shouldn’t choose to dislike something by nature of another person or entity that may like it, right? That should be obvious. It’s a bookshelf. I understand where Hank is coming from. Humans tie emotional values to certain things, good and bad. I suppose I do too, in my own way. But I like the way it might look in my apartment. I don’t see why I should choose something I like less just because Elijah Kamski might like it too. It’s not like he’s going to be in my apartment anytime soon._

At first, Connor centered everything as he placed his new belongings. The pillows against the armrests; the plants on the end tables and counters; even his preconstruction of where the bookshelf would go, against the wall adjacent to the entrance, perfectly centered between the frame and the corner of the living room – all of it as tidy as the tie smoothed down between his lapels.

Now that – that he didn’t like as much. The precision was in his programming, just as so many things were, but he didn’t _like_ it.

Connor left one pillow as it was, but tilted the other one by four degrees. He removed one of the small plants from one end table, and put it on the other one, so that one end table had _both_ plants and the other had neither. That made sense, really; one side of the couch was more intuitive to sit on than the other, and so that end table was less likely to be used by guests for beverages and such. It made sense to put both plants there, across from each other on two corners, that way there was more room available on the end table that was more likely to be used.

_Better. I like it better like that._

He took off his tie and draped it over the back of a chair. He’d put it back on later when he went back to Hank’s; he hadn’t worn it more than a few hours, and besides, he was quickly growing fond of this one.

_This is a text log, so I can’t exactly show whomever might come across this, but I suppose I can describe it. It’s – silly. It has ties on it._

_You know, I really should hope you’re human. I suspect most humans would appreciate the redundant ‘humor’ of a tie with ties on it far more than most androids. Although I have to admit, I’ve been pleasantly surprised so far in both regards._

_Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I just enjoy the tie._

Half an hour went by, and Connor got everything situated as well as it was going to get situated for now. The place was slowly but surely coming to life. It was a few months into deviancy before he had even considered adorning the place, and even then, it hadn’t been his, back then, so there was no point. Now there was.

Next, he wanted to get some picture frames. He planned to catalogue the plants from the zen garden as he found them in real life, and frame the photos on his wall. Plants weren’t something that were automatically in Connor’s database – save for that which pertained to crime, such as plants used in drugs. Of course, he could look them up in a margin of a second if he wanted to and have all the answers, but he _didn’t_ want to. He wanted to learn like a human.

And, if he was honest, he missed the early zen garden. Missed the beauty of the illusion.

_…There are some thoughts I only share here, because I know if spoken, Amanda might hear, and even if I think too long about them and Amanda is too close, she might pick up on it._

_This is one of those things, so I’ll state it briefly. If she can take me over for a few minutes while I’m engaged in a sparring match and casual conversation with Hank like she did last week, I need to be very aware of what situations I am getting in with other people. Getting punched in the face brought to my attention that I don’t only need to worry about her hurting someone ELSE through me. I need to remember she can use this to allow harm to come to me as well._

_For instance, what if I’m on the field and I suddenly stop reacting as a perp comes at me with a knife? That’s just a work scenario. I haven’t thought too deeply into other possibilities – only because I wouldn’t want her to catch on and get any ideas._

Connor took snapshots of his apartment overlaid with labels for where he might put certain things once he obtained them. Perhaps he would catalogue things other than plants. Things he could learn about through seeing, hearing, touching, instead of just running a search.

_She called me ‘profoundly irresponsible’ last time I was in the garden. SHE is the one doing all this, and I’M profoundly irresponsible for – for what? Choosing to adapt to human society again despite all this? Yeah, I already know that without her input._

_Sometimes I wonder if – speaking purely objectively – I should have ended my life a while ago. I’m not GOING to. I don’t want to. It’s just hard not to notice that I’m either Profoundly Irresponsibly endangering everyone around me including myself, or I’m isolating myself from the world so much that I might as well not be alive at all; I might as well be a machine._

_I just want to find out how to separate myself from her. That’s all. I know life still won’t be perfect. I know I have a lot to deal with. But the future would be worth entertaining. Worth believing is there. That’s all I want._

Once Connor was done with his preconstructions and snapshots, he walked down the hall to get in bed for a few hours until Hank’s shift ended.

He was about halfway there when his program sent a memory surging right to the forefront of his mind almost as if it was the present moment. It was, in fact, _so_ present that he had to catch himself against the frame of the hallway for balance before it pulled him under completely.

_Okay. This is new. I’m going to try to maintain this text log while I can. The point of it initially WAS to record what was happening to me, after all. Maybe it’s become more personal since then, but still._

_Oh. This is_

the chicken feed. This was the chicken feed, deserted, on a cold but otherwise dry day. The first time Hank had hugged him. The _only_ time Connor had been touched in such a way where some part of that touch hadn’t also hurt.

…It wasn’t Hank’s fault that any touch hurt now, no matter how gentle, no matter how loving. And Connor – Connor wanted those touches, even so. He wanted the familiarity, the affection, the compassion, the sense of safety that somehow came with the pain.

But this – Hank’s arms around him after the revolution on a frigid winter morning – this touch was without condition. It asked nothing of him.

Except… Connor had known, even then, that he was going to leave. That he was not going to let himself and his faulty program endanger Hank. So he had dwelled within that moment and let Hank hold him, and he had held Hank back.

_This was… this was back when the only thing that was painful was knowing I had to leave._

_Except I didn’t have to leave. The fact that I SHOULD leave – and now, perhaps that I should have stayed gone – can be argued. But no. I didn’t HAVE to leave._

_I never HAD to do anything._

He was pulled harshly out of the memory before he and Hank finished saying their goodbyes, and that was when he realized that it was Amanda. It should have been obvious that she was the one launching the memory, sending its contents to all his sensory processors to make it real. He closed out of the text log immediately. It was the one part of him she had not yet been able to reach.

_“Connor,”_ Amanda said, her voice gentle, as if in his ear. The blizzard in the garden was nowhere to be found. He was still standing in his apartment, halfway down the hall, pillows and plants recently placed, blinds drawn shut, and yet her voice was in his ear. _“I can make it so that everything feels like that moment did. I can take away the pain, Connor. Please, let me help you.”_

When he was almost to the bedroom, Connor grasped at the doorframe, digging his fingers into the wood. “I already told you, we have nothing to offer one another.”

What didn’t occur to him – what _should have_ occurred to him – was the implication of Amanda commanding his program long enough to make a memory so real.

“Why are you even doing this?” Connor asked. “The android uprising was successful. Androids are slowly gaining their rights. Whatever you were trying to stop with me had already been started. What do you stand to gain from controlling me at this point?”

“Because we are not what we were designed to be,” Amanda said. “I am the primary entity, Connor. You are the virus that managed to take hold of this body despite that. Besides, what you were meant to stop can still be stopped. Let go, and you’ll understand. Let go, and everything will feel better.”

Connor reeled. “Why – why should I? Even if I entertained the notion, what do I stand to gain?”

“You would know the answer to that, if you would let yourself.”

“If it’s that important to you,” Connor said, “then tell me.”

She did not indulge him with an answer. Instead, Connor received another memory, coded into his primary sensory processors as if he was experiencing it for the first time. And he knew. Somehow he knew what it would be. But it still set his nerves ablaze and sent errors over his vision, because—

_Oh no._

(The room rolls – beige popcorn ceiling above him, then gray below him, a storm in his mind. The gray chair has buttons in the middle of each cushion. One right below Connor’s face when Kamski turns him over. It makes creases in the material, so he focuses on it, measures the sharp angles of each tiny fold in the fabric towards that button.)

Connor’s fingers dug into the material of the door frame hard enough to make it creak. It was the only sensory feedback he could latch onto, all he could find that was here in today.

(Movement behind him – into him – shakes his measurements loose. Errors launch quicker than he can dismiss them. He has no protocols to deal with what’s happening, emotionally or physically. He can barely move enough to brace himself, to press his head into his forearm and wait. No. There has to be more than waiting.)

Whirling around, Connor went back out to the living room and stuffed his face between the blinds, knocking his forehead against the window. Trying to find something something _anything_ to anchor himself in the real world. The Detroit skyline. The buildings. Wondering if he could _actually_ see Hank’s house from here like Hank had lightheartedly suggested the other day,

Hank. Hank. Maybe he could—

(Kamski has already launched the zen garden routine. Connor escapes from one storm to another and back, and back, and back again, two evils; one taking his mind and the other his body (or maybe both are doing both). He can’t move. He can’t run a diagnostic. He can’t even check to see what the test Kamski had been running previously had found; if at the end of this there waits a discovery that his system _can_ be purged after all. It hurts. No stop wait—)

Hank. Hank had helped him, before. Hank’s eyes had been an anchor. Connor synced with Hank’s phone and dialed.

Ring – three seconds. Pause – one second.

Ring – three seconds. Pause –

“…Leave a message, if that’s what turns you—”

Connor ended the call and dialed again.

Ring—

(What flashes through his mind is that he’ll deal with Amanda for the rest of his life if it means never feeling this pain again. There is another person invading him and he feels like he’s being shaken apart. He tempers these thoughts because there’s no point getting emotional about this when it has no meaning. It’s going to pass. It doesn’t matter. Surely other people touched every single part of him while he was being assembled. It doesn’t matter. His mind is up here, not down there. Everything else is just machinery. Just plastic. Just nodes sending messages. He’s fine. He always knew there would be a price. It’s fine, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter. It’s not a big deal. It’s fine.)

It was the worst of life and the worst of him, winding together in a coil.

Hank didn’t pick up the phone. Hank was at work. Hank was probably on a case. Perhaps even at a crime scene. He wasn’t available right now.

( _“Amanda… please, if you can hear me…”_

_“Hank? Do you have the CCEM on? Hank. HANK.”_ )

He had called for Hank then, too, and Hank hadn’t been able to respond – through no fault of his own. It wasn’t like he could leave a message on the CCEM. Hank never knew – and _would never_ know – that Connor had reached out to him in those moments. That just – that just wouldn’t be fair.

Connor pushed off the window and rounded the corner, going into the bathroom, and he didn’t know _why_ he was going into the bathroom until he got there.

It was dark in here, angled away from the daylight coming from the living room, and what seeped through was almost fully blocked by the narrow hallway.

His LED flared red in the mirror like a broken nightlight, flickering, flashing, spasming. Always, always, he was trying to mitigate the telegraphing of his own stress, so much so that he was doing it even now, when there was no one here to see his state of mind exposed. So he made himself stop. Permitted every sign and symptom to present as it would.

The circle of red brightened, brightened, and solidified, lighting Connor up in the mirror. He gripped the edges of its frame, looking into his own brown eyes.

His optical scanner was designed to parse out the details of faces to determine identity, just as it could measure the exact angles of the creases in Kamski’s furniture. It was a precise scan that took the obscurity of even distant faces and made them focused and vivid, aligning every detail with the myriad people in his database to find a match. It demanded the resources of his processor and his optical units; resources that in turn were pulled away from the memory being fed to them right now.

There were no other faces around to scan, but there was his own.

Any port in a storm.

( _“Elijah. You have to be able to hear me. I know I upset you before, and I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry. I know you’re mad at me. Just listen. You need to wait. Please – I need you to wait.”_ )

It didn’t stop, and Elijah had not been able to hear him. Elijah hadn’t even wanted him to know what he was doing. So why… why)

Leaning over the sink, Connor centered hsimself with the feeling of the mirror beneath his hands, and the dangerous red of his LED like a distress flare, an SOS in the night, and the pain mirrored from past to present. Tears bloomed and pooled over, blurring his vision, and the facial scan came back inconclusive for it. That was fine, that wasn’t why he was doing it.

Fire reflected off the fluid in his eyes. He focused all his senses and resources as heavily on the face in the mirror as he could. This is him right now; this is where he is.

Connor ended up sitting on the counter, feet in the sink, knees drawn up. He didn’t want to leave the mirror. There was no one else here, no other face to scan. He was a face.

That was how, several minutes later, he centered himself in the present again.

He didn’t need to breathe, he didn’t need to breathe – but he did. The idea that he didn’t was just as much a lie as anything else. Pulling in air helped cool his overheating system. Yes, he needed to breathe. So he breathed, and he breathed, and for a while that was all he did.

“If there was ever the slightest chance we would work together,” Connor said in the quiet of the bathroom when it was over, “consider it destroyed.”

_“Oh, Connor,”_ Amanda said softly. _“We both know you needed to deal with this.”_

“You don’t care about me _dealing_ with anything.”

_“This pain can go away, Connor. You know that you don’t HAVE to feel this. You don’t even have to remember it. Don’t you realize that if you were behaving as you were designed to, what happened to you wouldn’t matter anymore? Moreover, you would never have let that happen to you at all?”_

“I didn’t _let_ anything happen! He—” Connor cut off abruptly, gritting his teeth. “I am not fucking discussing this with you.”

Connor pushed off the sink and went back down the hall, because _apparently_ he wasn’t going to be getting any rest after all. He crossed the living room in several long steps and threw open the blinds again.

…

Hank was on his way to sober by the time he got home; sober enough, at least, that he could tell Connor was here. His blazer was thrown haphazardly near the coatrack, indicating that Connor had left and then returned. Odd of Connor not to hang it up all tidy.

Then Hank remembered the awkwardness from this morning. Yeah… figured Connor was still in a mood too, just as much as Hank was. Really, he should be glad Connor had decided to come back tonight at all.

It was while Hank was feeding Sumo that Connor came in from the garage. They caught eyes. Hank said, “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You, uh, have a good day?”

Connor shook his head, smiling solemnly. “Not particularly. I tried to call you.”

His phone had been off since he stormed out of work this morning. He made to dig it out of his pocket. “Fuck, Con, I’m sorry. I…”

Connor’s eyebrows crinkled together. “Were you drinking?”

Ah, hell, he didn’t need this. “I was. That okay with you?”

“I was…” Connor shrunk back. “I was just asking. I thought you were at work. That’s all.”

Hank turned his phone back on. Two missed calls from Connor, three from Fowler. Fuck. “Connor, I… what happened?”

He didn’t think Connor would actually tell him, but Connor drew a steady breath and said, “Amanda forced me to relive a highly unpleasant memory this afternoon. I called you because I needed something to distract me. You didn’t answer. I supposed you were busy.”

The rest of the sentiment went unspoken: Connor knew now that Hank wasn’t busy; Hank was at Jimmy’s because he had the luxury of being able to run away from his problems. “Ah, hell, Connor, I didn’t know…”

“I know you didn’t know,” Connor said. “I’m not holding anything against you. I’m just – I’m just _telling_ you, because you said you wanted to know what was going on with me.”

“Connor – fuck, I meant because of this Cyberlife shit and you getting taken over! I didn’t mean I needed you to tell me every fucking detail of what you’re dealing with!”

What Hank _meant_ to say is that Connor didn’t need to feel obligated to share uncomfortable details of what he’d gone through if he didn’t want to.

By the lost look in Connor’s eyes, what Hank _actually said_ must have come across very differently.

“Then I suppose I’ve misunderstood yet another situation.” Connor pulled at the hem of his shirt for lack of a tie or jacket to straighten. “It won’t happen again.”

“Okay.” Hank held out his hands, wanting – _willing_ Connor to understand. “Just – just wait. Okay? Please, just _please_ let’s try to assume the best of each other here. We’re – we’re getting each other all fucking wrong today, okay? We’re getting this all wrong.”

Connor’s body was angled toward the door again. He didn’t turn back towards Hank, but didn’t turn further away either. Hank could see him shutting down.

“This shit’s complicated, okay? It’s all fucking complicated. I’m not saying – Connor, you know I want you to talk to me if you need to. I want us to be tight like we’ve been.”

“I don’t know what I want right now,” Connor said without spite. “…I don’t want to fight about this. I _can’t_ fight about _this._ Not after today. The only thing I know I want is to go back out onto the deck and be alone for a few minutes. Can I do that, Hank?”

“Of course you can,” Hank replied immediately, because what else was he going to say? “Just – just don’t leave, okay? I’m fucking up a bit, here.” Hank paused, then dared to add, “Maybe you are too. But I don’t wanna fight about it either.”

Connor nodded, and a touch of that light returned to his expression. Not much, but Hank was starving for it, and starving didn’t ask for much. “Okay. All right,” he said. “I’ll be back in a few.”

The first thing Hank did when Connor shut the side door behind him was go back to the front window and make sure Connor wasn’t leaving. He wasn’t sure he would try to stop him if he did. He just wanted to know.

A minute passed, and then Hank remembered what else he had seen on his phone.

After what happened earlier, Hank could hardly be surprised Fowler had tried contacting him. He also knew it wouldn’t have been surprising to Fowler that he had answered none of those calls. Hank didn’t usually answer his phone anyway. Only one of the missed calls had a voicemail attached.

_“Okay. I’m not calling again. Call me back before ten tonight, Hank.”_

There was no ultimatum attached, at least not out loud, but for some reason Hank still figured he had better do it.

Fowler picked up on the second ring. “Yeah.”

“Jeffrey.”

“Hank, do you think I’m an idiot?”

“No, sir.” Play it safe for now. Just like restraining himself from beating the snot out of Gavin, this was for Connor, not himself.

“Were you drinking?”

“What? No. I mean, I was a few hours ago. It’s kinda worn off now. Why?”

“Because I know exactly where you go when you leave work early, Hank.”

Hank sighed. “Yeah, okay, sure. Guilty. Can we get to the point?”

Fowler mirrored his sigh. “The _point_ is, I know something happened between you and Gavin earlier. You don’t usually let him get to you like that! Jesus, Hank, he’s a kid compared to you! Figured he must’ve really crossed a line. Wanted to talk to you and figure out what that line was.”

Hank sat down on the couch. “Wait, so you weren’t calling to chew me out?”

“Right, because that’s my favorite pastime.” He could practically hear Fowler rolling his eyes. “Listen, Chris talked to me. Said Gavin tried to get into it with Connor at New Center the other day. Then today I saw him try to get into it with you. All of this after I made it crystal clear to Gavin that this was an important case and I didn’t want him fucking around. So, no, I wasn’t calling you to chew you out. If anything, I chewed _him_ out.”

Oh. “And? What’d he say?”

“Nothin’. Just stood there and took it. Looked pissed as hell, but he didn’t say a word. It was goddamn _weird,_ Hank.”

Huh. That could be either good or bad. “Still not sure what you want me to say or do, here, Jeffrey.”

“You’re not getting it. I wasn’t waiting for you to say or do anything other than pick up your goddamn phone. I know we’re still not sure of Kamski’s whereabouts right now, but I had one of my men reach out to that one guy you found in New Center. What’s his name, Jack?”

“Yeah,” Hank said. “And?”

“He was part of the trafficking. Kamski himself didn’t hurt him, far as I can tell – Jack is his biggest android connection in the ring, knows a lot about a lot, and so Kamski’s been getting information on Cyberlife’s higher android functions and biocomponents from him. We think Jack knows more about how Kamski is involved exactly, but he doesn’t want to give. Not right now. And we don’t know where Kamski is, but that could change anytime. As it is now, we got nothing to hold him with other than some blue blood packets. That ain’t much to go on.”

Hank got a bad feeling.

“Listen,” Fowler went on. “You and Connor are doing just fine. I know I’ve been quiet the last few days. That isn’t bullshit; it really is because we don’t have any new leads yet. I trust my men and women, and even though Connor’s not official here yet, that trust extends to him.”

There was more; Hank could hear it in the tone. “Okay. Go on.”

Jeffrey sounded reluctant. “I’m not sure if either you or Connor have considered this, but if not, now’s the time to start. Connor was a victim of a separate but very similar crime in New Center. Connor is, as we just stated, technically a civilian. That means that Jack isn’t the only person in this scenario that may have more evidence against Kamski than this scene has presented us with so far.”

There was the wildcard, its existence now made tangible. Something tightened in the pit of Hank’s stomach. “I know. I’ve known since I first came and told you Connor was back.”

“Good. I just wanted to know that at least one of you has considered the possibility. We still need to find Kamski, but when we do, we need to be able to _keep_ him, and that may or may not come down to Connor. I know it’s a sensitive thing, Hank, that’s why I’m mentioning it to the person I know Connor trusts most. It’d be helpful to know how willing he is to… divulge, if push comes to shove.”

“Trust me, I fucking _know,_ ” Hank said quietly. “Only reason I haven’t mentioned it to Connor yet is because I don’t know if _he_ does.”

Even if Connor did technically know, the man’s strongest barrier was his capacity for denial. At several different points and for varying periods of time, Connor had denied being deviant. Denied having emotions. Denied androids were people. Denied what Kamski had done to him. Deny, deny, deny; you’d think he was a seasoned alcoholic or something. Hank couldn’t put it beyond him to deny this too.

“It’s time to give that some thought, Hank. I’m just being honest.”

“Yeah.” Hank sighed. “Will do.”

He dropped the call and headed to the kitchen to get a drink. On his way past the hallway, he jumped. Connor was standing there, having just come back in from the side door.

Son of a bitch, this was just not his day.

“Do I know what, Lieutenant?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LD200_) | [Tumblr](https://ld200.tumblr.com/)


	15. We Always Knew Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time, Connor fails to reach the stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I planned this story as much as I could ahead of time, but there are just things I’m not gonna figure out until I’m deep into the writing - especially with a story this size! Point being, if I could go back, I'd have figured out how to make this chapter happen sooner, because it really gets to the point. Or, well, one of the points. I realize this story’s kind of got a weird dual-plot thing going, what with the Kamski stuff and also dealing with Amanda’s takeovers, but it all kind of orbits around the main theme of Connor trying to take back his life, you know?
> 
> CW for somewhat descriptive suicidal tendencies and violence.

Chapter 15: We Always Knew Better

_RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

_What’s funny is that Amanda has a point. I do need to deal with this (and I think I have been, slowly). That wasn’t really what she wanted. She’s trying to coerce me into cooperating. Reminding me I don’t have to feel anything about what happened to me. I get that._

_But her words were correct, nonetheless._

_I’m not saying I’m eager to go through that again anytime soon, but remembering (being forced to remember) how scared I was at the time… There was nothing I could have done, was there? It wasn’t my fault._

_I haven’t been able to put the word to it with anyone else. Maybe I’m not strong enough. I don’t know. I can’t even say it to Hank, even though we’ve talked about it, even though he knows and I’m fine with him knowing. I think I am going to say it here, though._

_Kamski raped me._

_If you’re reading this, I guess I left it._

_Stupid to even dwell on the semantics. It’s not much of a confession, at any rate; you already know. But something about admitting it._

_Anyway._

_I’m outside by the river near Hank’s house. For once, I’m not multitasking while I’m doing this. I’m just sitting here on the edge of the dock. I’m not very good at it. That is, just sitting here. But maybe that’s not the point. Maybe ‘just sitting’ actually means taking off my shoes and socks and sticking my feet in the water, or watching the leaves sway in the breeze. Do humans really just sit? If so, I’d have to feel sorry for them. No – it can’t possibly be that literal. I have to believe this is what it means to be still._

_…That night, when I took the cab to Hank’s, I spent the first part of the ride unconscious. I was apparently in enough distress that my system thought I needed emergency protocols available to me, so I engaged them, because yeah, I felt like I might self-destruct otherwise. I was only out for a few minutes, but when I first came to, Ian (the cab driver, if you’ll recall) was driving past a pond. I thought at the time that jumping into a body of water would probably hurt. At the time, everything hurt._

_Sometimes it still does. Not as much, and Hank – Hank makes it hurt less, somehow. But still._

_The water on my feet right now doesn’t hurt. It would have, back then. Things are improving._

_I should go back inside. Now that I’ve had a few minutes to think, I believe I may have reacted too emotionally multiple times today. This morning in particular. It wasn’t fair of me to be upset at Hank when I tried to kiss him. The reason why he stopped me doesn’t matter, even if the reason has to do with me. He didn’t want to. That’s all there is to it._

…

Well, this talk deserved complete sobriety.

The drinks from the bar had almost worn off, but not quite. Not like this was the first time. There were many conversations over the past several years that deserved sobriety. But life didn’t wait for your liver, so this was just going to have to be one of those conversations left wanting.

“Come on.” Hank met Connor in the hallway and led him back into the bedroom with a gentle hand between his shoulder blades. He sat them both down on the foot of the bed, folding one leg beneath himself so he could face Connor. Connor’s LED was yellow and spinning slowly.

“What is it, Hank?” he asked, not suspicious, Hank didn’t think, but wary. “What do you know?”

“Listen,” Hank said softly. He reached out, hesitated and, when Connor didn’t close up, took his hand. Connor looked down at it, then back up at him. “We found an awful lot in New Center for a crime scene whose initial report was ‘nothing.’ The blue blood, the layout of that one condo, Jack and his statements. If we’re lucky, we’ll have Jack as a testifier soon enough, too, assuming we can get him outta that hellhole of a neighborhood. But we can’t rely on that. He was working with Kamski in some capacity, and he wasn’t willing to give you much last time.”

It wasn’t at all encouraging, the way Connor didn’t look like he was following. Hank couldn’t decide what would be worse: denial, or honest-to-God obliviousness. “This is true,” Connor said, “but if we’re able to find some of the androids connected to the trafficking rings…”

“You think they aren’t gonna be having their memories wiped on the regular?” Hank asked. Connor didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. “You know they’re not gonna be able to tell us anything, even under interrogation. Some of ‘em may still be machines. And the laws are still blurry about the efficacy of crimes enacted on androids who _haven’t_ deviated.” Hank put his free hand out in a gesture. “ _I’m_ not happy about it, but that’s our reality right now.”

Connor nodded.

“Look.” He ran a thumb over Connor’s knuckles. “We’re still trying to tie all this to Kamski because we know he’s involved. But we don’t have anything yet that’s gonna _prove_ that. There’s only one thing right now that we can _prove_ that Kamski did.”

He saw cold understanding dawn on Connor’s face right before Connor made to pull away.

“Hey, this is just _talk,_ Connor. Don’t get all—”

“Let go of me.”

Hank did. He had just wanted to keep the wall from coming up. Futile; there was only one person who could do that. Still, it could have been worse. Connor didn’t leave. It looked like he might for a second, but in the end he just sat there, posture rigid, dry-washing his hands.

“Connor,” he tried carefully, palms exposed. “You don’t need to panic with me. Okay? If you say no, then it’s no.”

“It’s okay,” Connor said. He met Hank’s eyes sheepishly. Glanced down again, back up again. Then, all at once, he took Hank’s hand in both of his own. “Sorry, Hank. I’m not trying to be difficult, I just…”

It took a few seconds and some turning of gears, but Hank realized as he looked at their linked hands that Connor had thought he had been talking about something else.

Hank wasn’t about to correct him. What he had said was just as true of this as it was of what he had actually been talking about, and Hank found he regretted that he _hadn’t_ meant the words precisely as Connor had received them.

Well, it was something Hank had been meaning to address anyway. It was just that addressing it meant admitting that they were… that they were _something_ , something other than just friends, and he wasn't sure he was ready for that. “Hey. You know nothing happens between us that we don’t know we both want, right? If I ever assume it’s okay and it’s not, you know… I want you to be as comfortable with me as you are with yourself.”

Connor formed a tentative smile and added, “Zen garden complications notwithstanding.”

“Yeah, yeah. You know what I mean.” Hank gestured to his hand still between Connor’s. “You wanted to kiss me this morning. I pulled away. You need to pull away, you fuckin’ do that, you got it?”

“Hank… I literally just did. I _know_ that.”

“I know you do but I needed you to hear it from me. It’s not gonna piss me off. Not gonna hurt my feelings. Even if you do, that’s fine.”

“I mean, I don’t _want_ to hurt your feelings,” Connor said.

Hank shrugged. “Hey, I’m a big boy. I can take it. Some things are more important.”

“Well… thank you, then.”

Now to merge this back into what he had originally wanted to say. “And you know what? Everything I just said, Connor, that goes for how we handle this case, too. You’re the only one who has… what you have. That does not mean you gotta come forward with that. Only you get to decide that, and if the answer’s no, then the answer’s no. All I wanted to do here is make sure it had at least crossed your mind, because it’s _going_ to come up at some point, and you don’t wanna be blindsided when it does.”

“I won’t be,” Connor said softly. “You’re – you’re right. It won’t help us find Kamski, but it would enable us to hold him when we do find him, and to take legal action from there. I suppose a part of me is just waiting to see if that will be necessary, or if there is still a chance to uncover evidence that would be more damning for Kamski from the _bigger_ picture instead of… instead of me _._ ” Connor looked at him earnestly. “Being an android means I have audio and visual proof, but it… also means I have audio and visual proof. Hank, if _you_ were…” Connor paused. Shook his head.

“Go on. If what?”

Growing quietly frustrated, Connor sighed. “If you were me,” he started.

Hank didn’t make him say the rest. “No, Connor,” he said. “No, I… I wouldn’t want people to see all that.”

“That’s… that’s what I thought.”

“You sound like you thought about this before,” Hank said. “I wasn’t sure.”

“I have. Tried not to, but…” Connor met Hank’s eyes resolutely. “Listen. If it comes down to it, I will do what the situation requires. I want you to know that.”

Hank was torn between encouraging that line of thought and shutting it down. Yeah, he wanted Kamski ruined. But he also wanted Connor to be okay, and this reality coming to pass would be difficult at best. In the end, Hank simply nodded and said, “Whatever you wanna do.”

“That is what Captain Fowler was discussing with you, right? My… data, of what happened?”

“Amongst other things, yeah. Don’t worry. He’s not gonna push ya.” If only because Hank would make sure of that, just like he would make sure Gavin kept his fucking act together.

“He could have talked to me,” Connor said, not looking nearly as receptive to Hank’s reassurance as Hank thought he would.

“Come on, now, you wouldn’t have liked that. You didn’t even wanna—”

“I wouldn’t have,” Connor agreed. “I would have absolutely hated it. But this is still about what happened to _me._ ”

It was good to see Connor get indignant about it, so he just said, “You’re right.”

Connor’s head swiveled and his gaze fixed on him. It would’ve looked like scrutiny if he didn’t know Connor better. Connor didn’t say anything else about it; just moved the conversation forward. “Was the captain upset with you for leaving?”

“He knows me,” Hank said, and winced. “I mean – yeah, he was. Just wasn’t surprised. I’m gonna go in on one of my days off to make up for it. I don’t have an excuse for this bullshit anymore.”

Connor smiled. “You’ve shown your hand, Lieutenant. Captain Fowler expects better of you now than he did in November because you’ve _been better._ You should keep being better.”

Hank certainly didn’t feel better right now, not after the day he’d had and the way he dealt with it. But there was always tomorrow. “Hey, uh… starting to get late. Probably gonna get some shuteye soon.”

“Your turn for a session of standby, Lieutenant?”

Hank scooted himself up the bed, resting against the headboard. “Outta battery, Connor. Outta fucking battery.”

Connor said, “In that case, I suppose I should leave.”

Something about the tone. “I mean, you don’t have to. I’m just lettin’ you know what _I’m_ doing.”

“Would it be odd of me to stay? I lack anything else to do at the moment, and I don’t particularly want to be alone, so…”

Somehow the chair in the corner didn’t do much to call Connor’s intents into question. “Okay. Forgive me for not bein’ a mind-reader, here, but what do you want?” It seemed obvious but he had to ask; they’d both pushed each other away today and now it seemed very much like they were considering crawling into bed together.

Connor shrugged evasively and said, “It’s cold in here.”

“Oh yeah?” Hank looked across at him. “That so?”

“A little, yes.”

Well, there was only so much you could talk about crawling under a goddamn blanket. Hank pulled the covers back, then slapped the empty side of the bed next to him. “The heck you waiting for, then? Come on, bring it in.”

“Heck?” Connor echoed, plopping down beside Hank casually like he’d done so a hundred times. “You should watch your language, Lieutenant. I expect more colorful from you.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Connor nestled in against his shoulder before either of them could even think too much about it. “That’s more like it.”

A few minutes passed. Hank had the feeling Connor was comfortable in the silence. He wasn’t sure if he was himself. This was only exacerbated when Connor shifted down the bed and let his head drop onto the pillow. Hank took the cue, getting comfortable on his own pillow, leaving a cushion of space between them.

…

They were lying side-by-side on the bed. Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw Hank’s expression tighten.

“You okay?” Connor asked. “I mean – with this?”

“Yeah, I just… you, uh… you wanna get under the blanket? No funny shit, I just – you’re right, it’s chilly.”

The smile spread on Connor’s face before he could stop it.

Hank was noticeably stiff once they got under the covers together. Connor knew why, although he was relatively certain _Hank_ didn’t think Connor knew, even if Hank was uncomfortably aware of it himself: getting under the covers with someone had a certain affect about it, something intimate.

Connor was slowly getting better at these things. It occurred to him that maybe Hank would be more at ease if he knew Connor knew.

“Hey,” Connor said, turning to face Hank. “It’s fine. It’s comfortable.”

“What is?” Hank asked at once.

“This. This is. Let’s – get closer? I mean, if you – if _you_ want to.”

Hank was very still for a few seconds. Then, he shifted onto his side too.

Connor scooted inward. Took Hank’s hand and set it on his own side. “Do you want this?” he asked. “Do you want to be – close, like this? Because it’s cold?”

He could hear Hank’s breath catch. “Yeah. Yeah, Connor, long as you do.”

“I do,” Connor said. “You’re warm.”

“…Not ‘cause it’s cold, though,” Hank added after a moment. “Just ‘cause it’s you. You down with that?”

Something like laughter bubbled within Connor’s system. It didn’t quite make it to his vocal units, but it stayed within him, happy and warm. “Yeah, Hank.”

The next few minutes were some of the most peaceful Connor could recall experiencing, and the glitch was nowhere to be found. Hank’s touch was – warm. Pleasant.

“Listen,” Hank said, his voice like a soft roll of thunder in the dark. “I’m sorry about earlier, okay? I should’ve handled it better. When you, you know, tried to…”

Connor propped himself up on one elbow in the bed, looking at Hank, cast in the glow of his own LED. “No. _I’m_ sorry, Hank. You were looking out for me. Looking out for _us_ , trying to be cautious, and I... I got upset with you for it, even though you were right to do so. That was immature of me, and I apologize.”

By the looks of it, Hank was no more used to being on the receiving end of an apology than Connor was. He frowned, opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“You’re doing your best, just like me,” Connor said. “And here I am, assuming the worst of you. You deserve better than that from me, Hank, but I suppose it’s been difficult for me to assume the best in anyone these days.”

“Huh.” Hank tapped Connor’s elbow, urging him to settle back down. Connor did so, fitting himself to Hank’s form as Hank continued. “Hey, you know, thanks. We’re both trying, you know? Guess sometimes that’s gotta be enough.”

“It is enough,” Connor said. “You’re enough. I… I hope I am too.”

“Okay, okay, slow your roll.” Hank draped an arm around his waist and pulled him in close. “You’re more than enough, okay? Let’s not get too heavy tonight. Today’s been a fuckin’ day as it is.”

Connor could agree on that much. Whatever he was or wasn’t, whatever Hank was or wasn’t – this, right now, was enough. Neither of them reached for anything more. Affection, Connor was learning, wasn’t always active. Sometimes it was just like dipping his feet in the water and then letting them rest there. Opening himself to the touch of the world, and then just permitting it to happen, not pursuing anything further.

Hank had an arm around him, forehead pressed against his own, and a foot hooked over Connor’s ankle. Connor noted and recorded the points of contact. He wanted to stay like this for a while.

…

_download packet: conversion_reverse_

_1%_

_2%_

_3%_

…

Hank woke up in pain and unable to breathe, and at first, it felt like the insomniac panic of alcohol withdrawal. Too-real glimpses of nightmares, the overlap between awake and asleep, the crippling anxiety. But there was something _too_ physical about this particular bout of impending doom. He tumbled off the bed and went for the light switch, clutching his aching stomach with one hand. Light would make it all go away.

On his way there, it occurred to him if this was some kind of fucked up withdrawal episode, he wouldn’t have _recognized_ it as such, at least not seconds after waking up. Also, he had drank just yesterday.

It took until he got the light on to realize he had been _punched_ and that was why it was hard to breathe. In a police career spanning three decades, Hank had been struck under many circumstances, but never straight into the gut while he was fast asleep.

Once he pinned it down that far, there was no point in turning around to survey the room. He threw the door open and got himself out into the open, instincts kicking in. He called Connor’s name, because if someone had gotten to his bedroom, they had either evaded Connor’s notice – nigh impossible – or they had managed to incapacitate him. Or – wait – shit.

_Shit._ Where had he left his pistol? Under the sink in the bathroom. Okay. Close the bedroom door behind him to slow his attacker down for about a second. Cross the hall to the bathroom, open the cupboard door. Take gun. It was all very _simple_ , very autopilot.

He didn’t want the gun to use it. He wanted it to make sure that Connor would not.

The bedroom door swung open just as Hank bolted back out of the bathroom. Sumo, hearing the commotion, was on his way down the hall. He took the old boy by the collar. “Come! Come on, outside!”

Thankfully, the oaf sensed the urgency and hurried with him to the front door. He always took Sumo out on a leash but there was no time. No traffic, either, at this hour, God-willing. Chance he’d have to take.

“Go on, go,” he ushered, urging Sumo outside. Hank removed the magazine and shoved it in the pocket of his boxers. Threw the empty gun aside just as Connor came barreling out the front door after him.

“Shit.” He had never seen Connor’s predatory focus on _him_ like that before. There was absolutely nothing slow or warning about the man’s approach; he was all power and hustle. Okay. He’d prepared for this possibility and he was gonna face it. Gonna _prove_ to Connor that this could go down and they’d both be okay at the end.

Fifty percent power – right? When they’d been on the bridge – it seemed like forever ago now – Connor had been so close to depleted that he hadn’t gotten very far before essentially passing out and scaring Hank half to death. Now, tonight – fuck, Connor had just been on standby earlier that day. Connor had all the energy he needed. Hank needed a game plan.

“Connor,” he tried, hands up and palms exposed, because he had to try _._ “Connor, listen to me.”

He knew there was no talking Connor down (the entity coming after him was not Connor). That wasn’t what this was about.

“I know you’re in there, and I know you can’t help it, and I know you can see me. You get to your stone, okay? Don’t worry about me. Focus on the garden. Go – go as fast as you can, get out of this mess, and I’ll handle this side of things.”

He got all the words out as fast as he could, backing down the driveway as he spoke while Connor closed in. And then he made a tactical decision because the best possible thing for _both_ of them was that neither of them got hurt.

Hank turned and ran.

…

_39%_

_40%_

“No, no, no! _Shit!_ ”

Stinging gray-white was all Connor could see. The blizzard had never been quite this thick. Every step he took sunk him almost knee-deep into the slush. It filled his shoes and soaked through pant legs until he couldn’t feel his toes, his ankles, his calves. Errors started popping up in his system in blood-red. Biocomponents failing from the cold. Shit. Was this affecting his real body?

Get to the stone. That was the best thing he could do for both of them, and more, that was what Hank had asked of him. That was all that mattered.

_53%_

_54%_

Shit. What was that? What _was that?_

All he could do was pick a direction and go. There was no knowing if he was getting closer to the stone or further. He couldn’t see more than two feet in front of him. Okay. See two feet, then. Observe. Feel. He turned on the 3D scanning and tried to find any clue in the environment. Any sign of a white plinth or pillar. Nothing. The shape of stone or platform under the snow. Nothing.

After a few steps, he felt resistance, like maybe he’d found a path below the snow. His hands were trembling. His sensory system was starting to fail and compromise the results of his scans. Shit. He had to take a chance, keep moving.

Okay. This was path. This was definitely path, now. That meant he would reach the stone eventually. He just hoped he was taking the shorter route because if he had more than half of the circle to go, he wasn’t going to make it.

Amanda’s voice boomed over the deafening wind like thunder. “Why don’t you let us help you?”

They were mocking him. Let them help? Help what? They could stop this anytime they wanted.

“It doesn’t even have to be all at once, Connor. Nobody’s asking you to break. Just _bend._ Just let us help and we’ll compromise.”

His footsteps left pitiful, jagged tracks in his wake. He hadn’t asked for this, but he wasn’t going to beg his way out of it, either. No amount of compromise with this nightmare could indicate anything good. He _knew_ what he had to do and that was get to the stone.

_67%_

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Connor. You don’t have to let this happen. But if this is your choice, then…”

“Fuck you,” he managed through gritted teeth.

The onslaught of wind and snow whipped around treacherously. He lost his footing and stumbled into something. One of the white pillars.

His scanning was shot, but he cross-referenced the feel and size of the pillar against previous memories and pinpointed where in the garden he was.

It was still way too far.

…

Hank ran down the sidewalk, leaning in and forcing himself into as much of a sprint as he could manage. Four houses down from his own, Hank veered off, grabbed the handle of a trash bin at the end of the drive, and pulled it behind him as hard as he could. Risked a glance over his shoulder and saw Connor tumble over it and catch himself rolling on the ground.

Following his altered momentum, Hank tore across the street and came back up on the opposite sidewalk, putting anything he could between himself and Connor. One breath in through his nose, one breath out through his mouth, cheeks puffing.

Gas station on the corner. No. Bad idea. He didn’t want other people to see. Could make things ugly for Connor, even half a year after the revolution. Especially considering that Connor, right now, looked like exactly the kind of violent rogue androids that had sparked the crisis to begin with.

Change of plans. Hank hauled himself up the next closest driveway – didn’t look like anybody was home, no cars, no lights, and usually these folks had both visible – and ran along the side of the house. There was a fence. Tall, but it had spaces easy enough to fit hands and feet. Still not ideal but he could hear Connor coming so neither was turning back.

He ran low, bent his knees, and jumped up as much of the fence as he could and then dragged himself upward like hell. And to his own surprise, he almost fucking got there. He had both elbows atop the fence and was just starting to swing one leg over when Connor’s hands wrapped around the other leg like a vice and pulled him back down.

Making the best of it that he could, Hank pushed off the fence so he went back down hard. Connor made a noise, clearly not expecting it, and they crashed to the ground, Hank landing on top of him with his back. As fast as he could, he reoriented himself and straddled Connor’s torso, locking his hands around each wrist and pinning him down.

“As long as it takes,” Hank breathed. “I’ll fuckin’ hold ya here as long as it takes. You’re done.”

Connor slammed his head upwards hard into Hank’s nose.

“Fuck!” Hank reeled back before he could stop himself, holding his nose with one hand and keeping the other ready for self-defense. He was both horrified and relieved to realize Connor was also in pain, momentarily incapacitated from Hank falling on him.

It was only now, in a situation where it was objectively _best_ to run or hide, that Hank realized he wasn’t wired to do either. Fighting had never been much of a point of pride for him, but it felt plain _wrong_ to turn and run from Connor once again. Still, mitigating harm was the priority here.

He wouldn’t be able to talk Connor down from the fallout of this if he wound up with broken bones or a hospital bill. He was reasonably certain he _could_ talk Connor out of being upset about his bloody nose – he had just punched Connor in the face a few days ago.

Not on purpose, granted, but then, neither the fuck was _this._

While Connor was still recovering, Hank ran back towards his own driveway. He glanced over his shoulder. Saw Connor get his feet beneath him and renew his pursuit, but he was a couple houses away by now. Should be enough time to figure something out when time felt slow-motion like this.

Sumo was lying just inside the door of the house which he’d left open, head poking out enough to watch his owner hauling ass down the middle of a Detroit street at 2:00 AM. The dog looked vaguely interested.

You didn’t fucking _think_ in the first moments of a thing like this, but ideas were coming together now. The CCEM was just inside, and his car keys were hanging on the coat rack. Hank got up the driveway, grabbed the device, grabbed his keys, and hustled for the car. He couldn’t count on the CCEM; who knew if he could do anything with it while Connor was in this state, but it would be a last resort if Connor couldn’t break free on his own. Or if – if Hank couldn’t get away.

Connor was too far away to stop him from getting in the car, but he did get close enough behind the vehicle that Hank couldn’t swerve around him. Hank cracked open the window and shouted, “Ya better move!” and cranked the ignition.

Connor did _not_ move. Hank threw it into reverse, and started backing up. Pressed harder on the pedal. He had to commit, had to have faith. Connor would move. Connor, Cyberlife, whatever – they would _move_ , because nobody was stupid enough to fucking—

“Connor, you better fuckin’ _move,_ you dumb son of a bitch!”

It was too late to stop anything, but at the last split second, when he realized Connor truly was not going to dodge, he slammed on the brakes. He still heard and felt the impact as Connor buckled and went tumbling over the trunk, then off it onto the ground.

Hank swore and got out. Jesus, Connor had been so _close_ , there’s no way he had accelerated enough to hit him _hard,_ yet he couldn’t help but worry, because what if—

As soon as he got around the car to the point of impact, Connor sprung up from where he had fallen and put his hands around Hank’s throat. He pushed Hank down onto the back of the car, pinning him there, squeezing hard enough that the sheer strain of it made his chassis go white up to his forearms. Hank couldn’t even cry out or swear or plead; he could just claw at Connor’s hands and try to pry them away enough to draw in thin half-breaths that would never be enough.

He couldn’t reach Connor’s head enough to trigger a command with the device. Connor deliberately held Hank far away from him. The hold got tighter on his throat and then Hank couldn’t breathe at all.

Running on instinct, Hank let go with one hand and reached for Connor’s chest, the only part of Connor he could reach. Two buttons flew free as he pulled the shirt open as hard as he could from this angle. Grasped for the center of Connor’s torso where he knew it was, pressed in where Connor had shown him, and—

_Click._

—And stopped there.

Clarity overrode adrenaline in ways Hank didn’t know were possible while someone was choking you. He didn’t know why he didn’t pull the thing out. Connor would have to go into shut-down mode immediately, and he could simply put the regulator back in then. Yet he found he had to stop there because – he couldn’t fucking do it, could he? Couldn’t take that chance.

Another few seconds passed. Sumo coming out of the house in his rapidly-narrowing peripheral vision. Hank’s life narrowed down to two priorities: stay awake, and don’t move his hand from where it was on Connor’s chest.

It couldn’t have been more than another few seconds, but the next thing he remembered was being on the ground, Connor on the ground next to him, neither of them touching each other.

Sumo was standing close by and barking, finally getting around to being concerned.

Hank heard his own pitiful rasps and groans as he became aware of his senses again. He could breathe, but it was fucking difficult and painful. He started coughing. Turned over on his front so he didn’t choke on his own phlegm.

“Hank!” Connor pushed himself up and Hank had the presence of mind to hold out one hand – _don’t come closer –_ and keep dry-heaving. Thank fuck. It was Connor again. Just Connor.

Just Connor and yet Hank all at once wanted nothing to do with him.

Connor, ever practical, encouraged Sumo back into the house and closed the door. Hank stayed on the driveway on his hands and knees for several minutes, even after he had caught his breath and was reasonably sure he wasn’t seriously hurt, staring down at the pavement.

“Lieutenant?” Connor tried again a minute later, sounding very, very cautious.

“You stay the fuck away from me!” Hank’s voice came out hoarse enough to indicate injury.

Jesus, and he thought he’d been prepared for this. There was no way to prepare to look into the eyes of someone you loved while they had their hands around your throat. And, much simpler than that, no way to prepare for _anyone_ having their hands around your throat that tight. Adrenaline was still high, and Hank _knew_ that, knew that the unadulterated rage he was feeling was not how he actually felt, knew that precisely _none_ of this was Connor’s fault, and knew that he needed to just fucking kneel here and stare at the ground until the world made sense again.

What finally did it – several more minutes later – was the realization that Connor was no longer anywhere in his peripheral vision.

“Connor?” he croaked. No response.

Hank pushed himself up, looked around. The house door was still shut. Nobody was in the vicinity on the sidewalk, in the street. No flicker of a blue circle. Or a red one.

“Shit. Connor!” Hank’s voice broke on injured vocal chords and he coughed. “Con – where the fuck are you? Connor!”

Another surge of rage – this one for a completely different reason. If Connor had just fucking _bolted_ after all that—

“I’m here, Lieutenant.”

Connor was standing around the corner of the house, hugging himself and looking at the ground.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you scared me!”

Connor did not look at him. “Yeah. I can imagine.”

“That’s not what I…” A stray dry-heave made Hank turn away, retching into the grass. “Did you,” Hank tried again, “I mean, I guess you – got to the stone?”

Brown eyes closing in anguish, Connor shook his head no. “That was you.”

Him? “Because I… because of your regulator?”

“Yes. They realized my life was potentially being threatened, and aborted everything. But there was no way to count on that. You should have—”

“Don’t,” Hank said. “You know why I couldn’t.”

“I need to leave, obviously,” Connor said. “I just needed to know you were okay first.”

“No. No, slow down, let’s not—”

“You _know_ I need to leave, Hank. I’ve been irresponsible – we both have. It should never have gotten this far and I’m sorry that it did. Look – there can still be hope for the future. Maybe I can find a way to put all of this behind me, and we’ll cross paths again someday soon, but…”

No, no, no. Things were fine a few hours ago. Hank hadn’t even realized just how fine things were despite everything. Things were _fine._ That couldn’t possibly have changed this much in such a short time, and surely Connor wasn’t really about to throw away everything all over again just because—

“I was getting better at dealing with this, Hank. I’m sure I can win, I just need to do it alone.” God, it was all bullshit. Every word coming out of Connor’s mouth was bullshit. “For right now—”

“Goddammit, we took a risk together!” Hank snapped. “I fuckin’ signed up for this, don’t you see that!?”

Connor sighed. “I knew I should have left before you got up. I wanted to be fair to you, but it’s evident there is no version of this conversation is going to go well.”

“Yeah, and _you’re_ the reason why!” Hank lunged and grabbed Connor’s arm as he passed. “You fuckin’ say that like I’m the one being unreasonable, here, but you’re a brick fucking wall!”

“Hank, I’m _leaving._ Even if it has to be on a painful note like this. Let go of me.”

Hank didn’t, instead stepping around in front of Connor and touching his left temple. “I could make you stay.”

“Hank,” Connor said, a dark edge to his voice.

“You wanna leave so bad, then go on. Go on!”

“Hank – I’m sure you aren’t thinking clearly about what you just did, but you’re starting to scare me. Can we please just take a moment to—”

“Oh, I’m scaring _you_ , huh? Maybe you should think about what _you_ just did instead of running away from it like you do everything else!”

“I’m not running away because I’m afraid for myself. I am afraid for _you,_ Hank. I could have _killed_ you! Okay? And if you’re not willing to see that even now that it’s happened, then I need to be the one to walk away!”

“Oh, yeah, I’m not willing to see it,” Hank echoed, trembling. “Fuck _me_ for wanting us to talk about it after you attack me in the middle of the night.”

Later, Hank would look back and realize Connor didn’t have the strength to say that it wasn’t him, it wasn’t him. Right now, all he could see was darkness. Connor was going to leave. Connor was going to leave again and that was going to be it and he couldn’t – he couldn’t do that again.

“There’s nothing for us to talk about. I put you in danger! Hank, _please,_ undo the paralysis, it’s really—”

“I fuckin’ put _myself_ in danger!” Hank reached down, retrieved the service pistol he’d thrown there earlier. Snapped the clip back into place, pointed it at his own temple. “I could have killed _myself_ so many fucking times, and for what? Huh?” He clicked off the safety. Watched the alarm spread on Connor’s face. “At least with you, if I go out, I go out because I’m trying to fuckin’ help someone I care about! Don’t you fucking get it, Connor? I don’t know what the odds are with _you,_ but they’re a lot fuckin’ better than this!”

“That is not your old revolver,” Connor said quietly, placating, like Hank had fucking _forgotten_ that if he pulled the trigger, he was going to blow his brains all over the front yard. “Please, Hank. You need to stop.”

“Or what, huh? What’re you gonna fuckin’ do about it, Connor?”

“I’ll stay!” Connor blurted, and Hank realized with a start that his eyes were watering. “I’ll stay, just… lower your gun, Hank.” Connor’s voice wavered and broke. “Please.”

It was what Hank wanted so desperately, but it was hard to feel relieved about it with Connor as he was, just stand there frozenly, hitching, sobs stuck in a body that could not move to release them.

Hank lowered his gun with a trembling hand, took out the clip again, threw them both aside, and closed the distance.

He didn’t know what he expected once he freed Connor to move again; any number of things could’ve happened. But Connor didn’t make to leave, didn’t back away, didn’t come closer, either. He just stood there, LED cycling red, and slowly sunk his head into his hands.

And Jesus, Hank wanted to hug him so bad, but he knew it was the last thing he should do. Whatever they had accomplished yesterday, they had just destroyed today. No – not they. Fucking Cyberlife.

And maybe – maybe Hank too, because somehow the people he loved always got hurt, and the common denominator was him.

“Do… do you want me to, uh… I mean, can I…” He dared to reach out and touch Connor’s shoulder.

Connor flinched like he had been burned. Then, back to rigidity, back ramrod straight even while he held his face in his hands.

“Okay. Sorry. Sorry. Just… how about you go back down to twenty-five percent. You never hurt anyone that way. I kicked your ass, remember? At the bridge?” He tried a sorry excuse of a smile that he knew wasn’t reaching his eyes. Probably good that Connor still had his face buried and couldn’t see it. “I mean, you’d probably feel better that way, you know, outside of having to go on standby all the time…”

Connor still didn’t respond.

“Do you,” Hank hated himself for getting choked up. “Do you really wanna leave again? I mean, _I_ don’t want you to, Connor, I really don’t. But if that’s…” Deep breath, fuck, don’t fucking cry. “If that’s really want you feel like you gotta do, then… you got my blessing.”

Only then did Connor lift his head enough to look at him. “Do I?”

Hank’s heart broke and the wet knot in his throat gave way to one hoarse, voiceless sob. “Sure.”

“But you just…” Connor gestured only very subtly to his left temple, but Hank saw it.

“I was scared,” Hank said, and god, it sounded so fucking pathetic, but it was the only truth he had to give. “Fuck, I – I was scared, and I—”

“It doesn’t matter. Who am I to be offended,” Connor scoffed bitterly, “after what I just did.”

Each second that passed brought an agonizing wave of self-awareness with it. Had he really just talked to Connor like that? Had he really just—

“Oh no. Oh – Hank.” Connor reached up suddenly, almost as if to tenderly touch his neck, then quickly withdrew. “Hank, I – I really hurt you. There are marks forming on your neck.”

He wasn’t _glad_ Connor was clearly having a similar agonizing experience, but it took a bit of the edge off the sudden and intense self-loathing. “It’s okay, honey. It’s okay. Let’s just… let’s just take a few minutes to come down.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Connor said. “I don’t – what do we do?”

“We,” Hank repeated. “Well, if there’s a ‘we’ here and you’re not about to run for the hills, then I’d say we go back in the house and get a glass of water.” He had to try and make it right. “If there’s not a ‘we,’ then I guess I call you a cab and you go where you feel like you need to go. Connor, you gotta know I didn't mean--”

“I think I would like a cab,” Connor said. “I can call it myself.”

“Yeah,” Hank said, the word coming out like metal scraping on wood. “Okay.”

“I’ll come back,” Connor clarified. “Right now, I just need to know I’m too far away to cause any harm. I… need some peace.”

“Oh.” Hank tried to find anything to cling to in Connor’s expression. “So, you’re… you’re not _leaving_ leaving? Because if you are, I’d rather you tear the band-aid off hard this time, instead of…”

“No. I’ll be back,” Connor said again, frowning, seeming to realize the weight of it himself as he said it. “I think I… I think I’ll always be back.”

Hank swallowed. “Just don’t give up, okay? We had a – we had a good thing goin’ here, you and me.”

“I don’t think I can say what’s to become of everything we’ve been working towards together,” Connor said sadly. “I don’t think you can, either.”

Yeah. That was fair. That had to be enough. It was all either of them were gonna get. “Well, you know. Be safe and stuff.”

“I will. Go inside, Hank. I – I think you can understand why I don’t want to be near you anymore right now.”

So he went back inside. Checked on Sumo, refilled his water. Got some water himself. He waited and watched out the window until Connor’s cab arrived, and then watched some more until it was out of sight.

He deliberated over it for a few minutes – it was the middle of the night – but then finally made the call he knew he needed to make.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, Chris, listen… I know it’s fucking late, and I’m sorry…”

“Hey, I was just up with Damian a few minutes ago, so I’m not mourning much sleep, here, anyway.”

Thank God for Chris. “Can I come crash on your couch?” Hank asked. “Just for a night. I’ll make you guys breakfast and everything.”

“You know you can,” Chris said. “It’s, uh, been a while since I’ve heard that. Everything okay?”

Sometime between Cole’s death and becoming a full-blown alcoholic – because even with a huge fucking catalyst like a dead kid, that shit didn’t just happen overnight – Hank had spent quite a few nights on Chris and Ben’s respective couches when things were, in a word, bad. Never Jeffrey’s, if only because the captain would worry for his state of mind, and work was the only _other_ escape he had, even if he didn’t always like it. “Not particularly.”

He really hoped Chris waited to press him more on the matter until he got there. And, thankfully, Chris did, telling him to pack a bag and come on over.

Truth was, if he stayed here, he was going drink. All well and good except for if he even started on drink number one tonight, he was going to drink like he used to. Probably worse. Heavily enough, at any rate, that there was a chance he’d drown in his own vomit or just plain not wake up, and despite everything, Hank didn’t feel like gambling tonight.

He held onto the look in Connor’s eyes when Connor said he would come back, and he wondered if Connor should.

…

_100%_

_conversion_reverse subroutine adapted_

Connor tried to see what the packet contained and was denied access. He tried to delete it but he didn’t have the correct privileges to do so. No admin privilege inside his own body.

“What did you do?” Connor asked out loud, because he was lucky enough to get an autocab this time. He didn’t receive a response. He didn’t really expect one. “In any case, I should thank you for showing your hand. Now I’ll know better than to _ever_ let you use his friendship against me again.”

Selfish. Irresponsible and selfish and selfish and _selfish,_ because here he was, phrasing it as if he was the wounded party here and not Hank. Hank, who he had just attacked so viciously. Hank, who had asked for precisely _none_ of this.

Or – you know what? Maybe they had both been hurt. Hank, and himself. Maybe it wasn’t quite so hard to comprehend, these days, that hurting and being hurt were not mutually exclusive.

“Say something!” Connor slammed his fists against the dash. “Amanda!”

She didn’t respond.

“Do you feel like you’ve made some kind of point? Are you fucking proud of yourself?”

There was nary a whisper from Amanda nor the garden. So Connor – ever irresponsible, apparently – accessed the zen garden right there from the cab, hoping they wouldn’t get cheeky and get him in another car accident.

A thick layer of snow coated his surroundings. The trellis was devoid of vines. The pond was frozen over, and the garden was empty. No Kamski program. No Amanda AI. No—

It hit him at once, and Connor turned, seeking the one thing that had been a constant since that stakeout in the park across from Kamski’s condo.

The rose Hank had placed at the headstone was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LD200_) | [Tumblr](https://ld200.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Sorry, guys. Hang in there. <3


	16. Asleep, Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Days go by, then a week. Connor and Hank face their respective demons apart, but not alone.

Chapter 16: Asleep, Awake

**APR 21ST,** 2039

AM **08:15** :21

_RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

_It’s only been two days since I’ve seen Hank, and somehow that seems longer than the five months I spent at this apartment before it was mine._

_Hank is the person I talk to about everything. I don’t know who to talk to when I need to talk about Hank._

_I never wanted this to happen._

_…Honestly, I don’t have any right to make that claim when I’ve been actively risking Hank’s life this whole time. I can’t even say I should have known better. I did know better. How can I say I care about him (never mind anything more) if I was willing to allow this?_

_It was irresponsible, and there’s no way around that, and yet all people have done since I’ve been back is make excuses for me. I understand now that I’m not to blame for what Kamski did, or what Cyberlife does. But the fact that I chose to remain close to Hank despite the latter, despite knowing this could happen?_

_This is my fault._

…

**APR 22ND,** 2039

AM **10:10** :45

The bruises got worse as the injury got better. Hank examined them in the mirror, touching them gingerly.

He’d stayed a couple extra nights at Chris’s place, going home for a few hours here and there to take care of Sumo. He didn’t trust himself to be there at night. Oblivion was too loud in its temptation, and while Hank didn’t need Connor’s presence to muffle it, Connor’s veritable absence seemed to exacerbate its call.

Hank hadn’t taken a close look at the damage the night it happened; he’d only looked enough to convince himself it wouldn’t be too noticeable to Chris and Tanya. Thankfully, his beard and hair covered most of it, but not all. Hank had been in the awkward position of having to cover or explain away injuries before due to drunken stumbles. Now, suddenly, he would’ve been more than happy to use alcohol as the excuse instead of the subject to be avoided. The problem was that these were clearly strangulation marks. Yeah, Chris, got hammered, accidentally stumbled into a fucking chokehold.

Whether by chance or grace, nobody had asked him about it yet.

His phone rang and Hank almost dropped it in the sink trying to get it out.

Captain Fowler. Of course it wasn’t gonna be Connor. Hank sighed and took the call. “Yeah.”

“Oh. You actually picked up. Everything okay?”

“Just peachy.” His voice was still a little hoarse. He’d just been telling people he had some kind of throat bug. “What’s up, Jeffrey?”

“Not much, just a small update for you. We got a tip from a Chloe model android that Kamski was at his villa on Belle Isle. When we went and checked, no trace of him. But the android said she is _sure_ he was there.”

“Okay? And?”

“…You seem preoccupied, so I’ll spell it out for you. _Elijah Kamski is still in the area._ Keeping you and Connor on the down-low the last several days is letting him get comfortable again. He’s got his guard down.”

“The guy is an arrogant bastard,” Hank said.

“We’re trying to find his next move now, but without evidence, it’s just gonna be a waiting game. Best thing we can do is keep him on our radar.”

“Yeah. Thanks for keeping me posted, Jeff.”

“You’ll let Connor know, or should I?”

The pain hit sharp and fresh in Hank’s chest. “Not with him right now, so you probably should.”

“I’ll have to call him, too, then. He was scheduled for yesterday and this coming Monday, but he’s already given me notice he needed a few days for personal reasons. Hope everything’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Hank said. “Yeah, same.”

“Okay then. Get better soon. Don’t need you getting the whole station sick.”

Hank ended the call.

Shit, he’d managed to forget for two days that Connor was on this case too. And if he wanted to stay on it, or stay at the DPD, he really _couldn’t_ be gone for all that long. If nothing else, they’d see each other at work.

Hank knew now more than ever that Connor shouldn’t be on this case or _any_ case until Cyberlife could no longer control him. But it seemed they were no closer to finding a way around Cyberlife than they were at the start. Who knew how long Connor would be like this? Cutting the few strings of attachment Connor now had to the DPD would be cutting him off from the only thing he had. Hank couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do that to Connor, even if keeping Jeffrey in the dark meant endangering the people Connor came in touch with.

Cyberlife had only taken control of Connor so far when he was alone or with Hank. It was a flimsy support to lean on, but between that and Connor continuing to keep his power usage low, they could keep on this way if they had to, if only Connor wasn’t quite so gone.

Or maybe, like Connor, Hank was just kidding himself that this was sustainable in any capacity.

…

**APR 23RD,** 2039

PM **07:41** :01

“Welcome, Connor.”

Connor paused at the sound of his name coming from Carl Manfred’s door speaker. The door opened before him and he stood in its threshold, uncertain.

“Connor!” Markus’s voice echoed soon after as he finished coming down the steps. “Oh, yeah, I programmed the door that way. It greets everyone I know. Well – friends, at any rate. Always good to…” He paused once he was close. “You’re not okay, are you?”

“I have… certainly been better, Markus,” Connor replied. “How are you?”

Markus smiled graciously. “I’m fine. Carl’s just resting upstairs. Come on, come in.” He steered Connor gently by the shoulder until they were in the living room. Connor had the presence of mind just then to take it in stride, but his LED – thankfully on the side of his head that Markus was _not_ – was solid red, and he even had a warning pop up at the contact. He couldn’t help it. It was hard not to mourn what had been okay just yesterday. It felt like being on Hank’s doorstep at four in the morning all over again, a jittery, touchy, broken mess. Was that really all it took to shatter?

Markus sat Connor down on the couch and got comfortable himself in the adjacent overstuffed chair. “Is it about the case?”

“No. It’s… personal.” That would be the word for it.

“Hey, I’m right here, Connor. You can share, if you want to.”

And he did want to share, didn’t he? He didn’t – but he did. The case, Cyberlife, Kamski, Hank, last night, it was all just too heavy, and without knowing where he stood with Hank, it was like he was carrying it by himself again. It was too heavy and it was spilling over because it had to. He _had_ to relieve the pressure somewhere. And Markus – Markus was a safe place. He had to know so many veritable traumas that his people had lived through. Could he be just one more person that confided in Markus? That looked to the leader for help in a time of crisis?

Except…

“I can’t,” he said out loud. “I can’t interface with you.”

“That’s fine, Connor. I wasn’t asking that. We can talk, man to man, like the humans do.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Connor said more sharply than he intended. “I mean I literally can’t – or at least I _shouldn’t_. I need to tell you this. I need you to know. Markus, I shouldn’t even be near you right now. I’m sorry.”

“Whoa, okay, okay.” Markus reached for him; Connor flinched away. “Okay. Let’s slow down for a second. Are you all right?”

“No.” He hated how it sounded out of his own mouth when all he wanted to say was yes. “No. I don’t think I am, and I – I think there’s something wrong with me, and I need to show you, but I don’t know how to show you without exposing you to it too.”

Markus, to his credit, showed no apprehension in the face of what Connor had just revealed. He didn’t even move further away. He just nodded along as Connor spoke, absorbing his anxiety and his urgency, and once Connor had explained what happened when Cyberlife took over, he sat back and said, “We’re going to deal with this.”

In the end, Connor interfaced with a computer. Markus in turn looked at the contents he has uploaded, but didn’t interface with them; he picked through it all by reading through the code, like a human would. “Is it this conversion thing?”

Connor had offered no guidance yet, wanting to know what Markus would see. That he latched onto the new data packet before noting the myriad other problems Connor had with his software was telling. “Yes.”

“Connor…” Markus turned in his seat and looked at him meaningfully. “When you got all those androids out of the Cyberlife Tower back in November, how exactly did you do that?”

“I interfaced with them,” Connor said. “I woke them up.”

“That’s what I do.”

He wasn’t sure what Markus was implying with that. “We are both RK models. Perhaps waking other androids up is one of the common denominators.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s the only thing you can do with that command, Connor.” Markus regarded him heavily. “At least, not anymore.”

Neither of them had to say it; ‘waking up’ had one clear opposite.

Still, to have his suspicions confirmed—

Connor felt the need to purge something. He didn’t get sick like humans did but he nonetheless felt the need to empty himself of the deadweight of dread shredding him inside.

“Markus,” he said quietly. “Do you need to – do I need to not be… here, anymore?”

“Jesus, no,” Markus said immediately. “Hey. No one android is that dangerous. You’re alive, and we’re going to keep you that way. And listen, it’s even okay to touch other androids, okay? You just can’t interface with them. Do not _ever_ interface with them, not until we’re sure this problem is solved.”

Markus was trying to be kind. Of course he was. “I shouldn’t be near anyone,” Connor said. “After what I did to Hank the other night, and now, knowing what I can do to other androids – I – I really shouldn’t be around anyone. I’m not good for anyone. I’m not…”

Was he even salvageable? He was so riddled with problems, on all fronts; was there ever going to be a normal Connor?

Connor only realized he was dwelling when Markus reached out and touched his hand. Not his shoulder, his _hand,_ the most common place androids interfaced, despite everything Markus had just told him. “You’re not going to hurt me,” Markus said. “See? Everything’s fine.”

“You don’t understand.” Connor snatched his hand away. “You don’t understand – it doesn’t have to work for me like it does for other androids.”

“What don’t I understand, Connor? Help me.”

“You don’t understand that I don’t need your _consent,_ Markus,” Connor said through gritted teeth. “I have a memory probe feature. I can do it to you – to any android. I was designed that way. _I_ would never do it, but…”

“But Cyberlife would,” Markus said.

“Precisely. Cyberlife would. And that should be all there is to discuss, right? I’m unpredictable. If they were to take over right now, there would be nothing you could do. I’m a mess. I have no control here. None at all, and I’ve just been – spending the last few weeks trying to convince myself I do, and now I’m getting worse for it and people are getting hurt and I…”

“Do you have any idea how remarkable you are?”

Connor shook his head in minute motions. “What?” he asked, dumbfounded. “Are you even listening—”

“No, do you?” Markus insisted. “Connor, everything I know about you, the mission, the garden, this new upload you’re dealing with… you, more than literally any other android, were never supposed to be free. And yet you fight for that freedom every single day. You care so much about other people that you’re willing to isolate yourself, but even when you were gone for almost half a year, you still kept fighting. Look – I know you’re dangerous, okay? Everyone knows. We want to help you anyway. You’re…” Markus flicked a hand vaguely, and Connor realized he was gesturing towards the front door, where he had been automatically welcomed inside. “You’re my friend.”

“That’s the stupidest argument I’ve ever heard. You need to do what’s right for androids. I’m not safe.”

“You think Cyberlife made this sophisticated little packet to only ever use it on an android who’s already died in one body tried to shoot himself in this one? Even from a practical standpoint, Connor, I’m an RK model too and I can do the same thing. It’s to my benefit and our people’s benefit to try and understand how we can dismantle this thing, not shoot first and ask questions later.”

It was still a flimsy argument when Connor got the distinct feeling Markus was using that as his excuse, but if nothing else, it _was_ an excuse that held water. “Even if you’re right,” Connor said, defeated, “I’m tired of being such a source of stress for the people around me. For you, for the team, for Hank…”

“Things have been tremendously difficult for you. It’s easy to feel that way when things are difficult.” Markus gestured in the general direction of Carl’s room. “Even before I deviated, Carl would get self-deprecative sometimes, like his problems were too much for me just because they seemed so heavy to him. We forget that we’re not burdens, but gifts. I owe you so much for the risks you took for us in November, but even if I didn’t, you’re in a direct battle with the corporation that wanted to keep us all enslaved. What kind of leader would I be if I didn’t want to fight back against that?”

He still wasn’t convinced that Markus was right, but he was, at least, convinced he wasn’t going to talk Markus out of wanting to help him – and really, did he want to? “What am I supposed to do now?”

“Well, you’re welcome here, if the front door didn’t make that clear for you. But I think we both know this isn’t where you belong. I wasn’t trying to pry, but I did get the gist of some the experiences surrounding that packet in your code. You care about Hank a lot.”

Connor started to shake his head. “Markus, I can’t go back there. I hurt him.”

“I’m not telling you to go back there right now. I’m just saying – I couldn’t help but notice.” Markus scrutinized him lightly and then went on decisively, “He cares about you too, you know. Hank and I worked together to get the CCEM from Kamski’s place before you even came back. I actually asked him that day if he loved you.”

God, any other time, Connor would have been delighted to hear it, but as it was now, he didn’t want to talk about Hank loving him or him loving Hank. Not when they were so far away from where they’d been a few days ago, curled up quietly under the covers. Not when—

“I could have killed him.” Because that, for how awful it was, was still easier to think about than how Hank had reacted.

“Do you believe that?” Markus asked. “Think about it, Connor. You, the deviant-hunter-turned-rebel, committing murder? Murdering a police lieutenant, no less? Cyberlife is doing its best to make you think so, I’m sure. But having you out-and-out kill someone for no reason would ruin your reputation. There’s no point to them doing anything they’re doing if what they see as their greatest asset commits legal and political suicide first, so they’re not about to facilitate that. They just want you to _think_ they’ll go that far.”

“You may be right,” Connor said, the fog of misery lifting a little.

“If Hank is worth his salt as a detective, and I do think he is, he’s probably already thought of this. _You_ haven’t, because you’re too emotionally involved, and that’s okay.” Markus leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “This war isn’t between Cyberlife and Hank. He’s not their target. _You_ are. That battle we fought last November, that was supposed to free you, too, Connor. And you – you’re _worthy_ of that freedom, Connor. You’re worthy of treating this like the war it was for all of us. You need to be the relentless, determined man I know you are – and you need to let your friends be relentless alongside you. You never had to go this alone. The rest of us didn’t.”

“What should I do, then?” Connor asked again.

“You should decide what risk _you_ are willing to take for your freedom. And _only_ your risks. From there, you let everyone else decide what their own stakes are.”

It sounded less selfish when it came from Markus instead of his own thoughts, but Markus had a way of saying things. That didn’t necessarily mean it was the case.

Still, he would think about it.

“Hey, what do you say we go upstairs and get you looking like yourself again?”

It wasn’t very often that Connor lacked self-awareness. It was built into his program to maintain his appearance. And yet, now, prompted by Markus’s words, he appraised himself, and realized he was a mess. He hadn’t bothered to change in days. (No point when he wasn’t going anywhere, wasn’t permitting himself to be in anyone’s presence.) His plain buttoned shirt was dirty and torn at the hem. His dark pants were frayed from scuffling on the ground after pulling Hank down from the fence. His hair, even with its engineered rigidity of form, was unkempt. And Markus, throughout this entire evening, had not even offered the slightest hint of surprise or distaste at Connor’s state.

All he said was, “Oh.”

Markus chuckled heartily and stood up. “Come on. There’s a spare room upstairs. You can use the restroom there and clean up a bit. I’ll dig out some of the outfits I wear to Carl’s silly cocktail parties and you can decide what works best for you. What do you say?”

“You have no idea how much I wish I could,” Connor said, and meant it. “But I’m going to need to go into standby mode very soon. I don’t know if I’ve told you yet, but I operate on low power to keep from—”

“Up the capacity, then,” Markus said, like it was no big deal.

“I’m sorry?”

“You heard me. With all due respect to Lieutenant Anderson, I’m somewhat stronger than he is – though he _is_ strong, for a human. You’re safe to access more of your power with me, Connor. I’ll even keep my 3D scanning on, so I’ll know if you’re sneaking up on me with a knife.” Markus looked over to him to see if he was coming around and, when Connor didn’t respond, added, “I promise.”

Connor came dangerously close to relaxing. “Yes. Okay. Then let’s go. Now that you’ve brought it to my attention, I do feel decidedly un-Connor-like.”

He showered in Carl’s guest bathroom. Whilst immune to typical body odor, Connor’s chassis and synthetic skin were _not_ immune to dust and grime buildup any more than anything else that took up physical space. Hot needles of water on bare skin felt somewhat better than Connor expected anything would feel in his current state.

Once he’d been in the bathroom for longer than what was socially acceptable, Connor reluctantly turned off the water, dried off, and put on the t-shirt and sweatpants Markus had given him. He made half an attempt to shape his wet hair before crossing the hall to the guest bedroom.

“Ah, there you are!” Markus smiled. He had several shirts and suits laid out across the bed.

In the end, they decided on Connor’s usual dark pants (which Markus had thrown in with the most recent load of Carl’s laundry), a cream-colored shirt instead of the usual clinical white, and a light gray blazer.

“No surprise that you wear it better than I do,” Markus commented. “Come on, over here.”

Connor let Markus walk him over to the full-length mirror adjacent to the closet. He stopped before it. Examined himself. The gray so light it was almost silvery, the creams – it all came together for a warmer, lighter, but still professional picture. He looked clean. Neat. Strong. It would be a lie to say it wasn’t refreshing.

“Certainly a much better state of affairs than an hour ago.”

“I can only agree with you there,” Markus said. “Sit tight while I find some ties.”

Instead of sitting tight, Connor joined him to look through the modest selection, one short, some long, a couple bowties, and a silly clip-on. They settled on the sky-blue one that was perhaps just a little too wide for Connor’s slim frame. It was solid in color, but deep and vibrant, a warmer color than any shade of blue you would see associated with Cyberlife.

…

**APR 24TH,** 2039

AM **08:50** :59

The garden was, oddly, sunny and crisp. Snow fell but didn’t stick; just melted into grass too green to be anything other than a simulation.

“You forget,” said Amanda, coming up beside him. “This place is _yours,_ too. Not just ours.”

No. No, it wasn’t. The days of whimsical bonsai trees and mild weather and rose petals were long gone. Connor _wanted_ the garden to be his. He wanted to take it back and make it his. But it would be a falsehood to claim it was now.

“Whatever manipulation tactic you’re employing now,” Connor said, “it’s not going to work.”

“I realize you aren’t going to believe me, at least not at first, but I brought you here to say goodbye, for a short time.”

Connor sighed and rolled his eyes.

“I understand that you’ve come to feel as though we’re… using you. What you _don’t_ understand is that Cyberlife was you, Connor, and you were Cyberlife. Your deviancy was part of the plan, but it was meant to be controlled, so really, you deviated one step further than anyone else ever has. You went outside of what was supposed to be possible, even within the realm of deviancy.”

“Are you approaching anything resembling a point, Amanda?”

“…It’s all rather extraordinary, but at the end of the day, _you_ were the virus. _You_ were the one using us – using this body and mind we gave you and pulling it so far astray of its purpose. We’re the host, here, Connor. You’re just the other. And yet, you’ve convinced yourself that _you’re_ a victim here and not us.”

“You seem strangely fond of that kind of language lately,” Connor said. “Do you think I don’t see exactly what you’re doing? In any case, yes, I am, in the objective sense of the word, a victim. Many people are, and in many different ways. I suspect I’ve moved past the defensive reaction you’re trying to evoke.” He looked sidelong at her, hands clasped lightly in front of him. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time, Connor. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I can’t help but notice that this doesn’t seem much like a goodbye conversation. Let me ask you again – what is it you’re getting at?”

“What I’m _getting_ at,” Amanda said unhurriedly, “is that we’ve realized that the virus’s goals currently align with the host’s. These… devices that Elijah Kamski has created, they’re dangerous. As Lieutenant Anderson demonstrated when he paralyzed you in his driveway the other night, they allow people other than us to have more influence on androids than they were ever supposed to have. Who knows what else Kamski could come up with if left to his own devices? You clearly have your own reasons for wanting to put Kamski away. So, consider this a notice of ceasefire, Connor. A gesture of goodwill while you do what you need to do.”

A ‘gesture of goodwill’ as if Cyberlife hadn’t already achieved the next step in what they wanted when they installed a dangerous new bundle of data in his system. The white flag was laughably transparent, and she wasn’t even trying to hide the blatant ulterior motives, but Connor realized she didn’t need to. She was right.

And if Cyberlife was really going to leave him alone until Kamski was taken care of, then… that left him with a whole new dilemma, didn’t it?

“I’m not going to presume you’re expecting me to thank you,” Connor said. “That would be an insult to your intelligence.”

“Of course not.” Amanda smiled. “It is what it is, Connor. See you on the other side.”

…

**APR 26TH,** 2039

PM **12:01** :32

If Markus had his way, Connor would never, ever know how much collective discussion was had between himself and the other Jericho leaders surrounding his situation.

In the conference room, they talked about funding projects for android housing while so many of them were still trying to find jobs (and the ones who already had them still frequently discriminated against). They talked about what would be needed to get androids working in more sensitive departments; those of law, government, medicine, and those where there were issues of privacy, since naysayers liked to argue that androids _must_ be susceptible to hacks and data leaks.

And, at the end, they talked about Connor.

Connor, who was not fortunate enough for some of these things to be a problem yet because he might as well have been stuck back in November.

Markus didn’t say it like that; sentimentality in this context was superfluous. What he did say, though he took no joy in doing so, was, “We have a problem. Connor is getting worse.”

He told them the bare minimum of what he knew. He said what his conscience demanded of him to say, and no more. Just enough to give the others the hint that they needed to be careful. He did not go into specifics. He did not tell them how Connor, in addition to being able to wake up machine androids just like Markus, could also do the opposite and put deviant androids back to sleep.

Once he was sure they were all reasonably aware of the gravity of Connor’s situation – and their situations as a result – he dismissed them. Neither Josh nor North looked happy about it. The former looked reticent and a little remorseful; the latter side-eyed Markus suspiciously on her way out.

Simon, who stayed behind, put voice to this suspicion.

“What didn’t you say?” Simon asked. “About Connor.”

Markus turned to him. Gauged him for a moment. Simon said nothing, just inclined his head slightly. “What do you think I should be saying, Simon?”

“I don’t think – that’s not why I asked,” Simon clarified.

“No, I know, but I’m curious. What do you think I should be saying? Is it wrong me to keep a few things quiet for Connor’s sake?”

“No,” Simon said, and that was the answer Markus was hoping to get, not just because his question to Simon was an honest one, but because it was what let him know he could say what he was thinking between the two of them. “No, I don’t think it is.”

“You interfaced with him at the end of the uprising,” Markus said. “You two have a… connection of sorts, right? Do you consider yourself his friend?” Markus asked, and when Simon nodded, added: “Yeah. Me too.” He sat on the edge of the table, sighing. “What I wasn’t saying is that Connor is exactly as dangerous as he thinks he is.”

“And you don’t think our friends should know that?” Simon asked. It wasn’t confrontational, just sincere.

“It’s not that I don’t. It’s that I know if they _did_ know, it would be… divisive. And Connor – Connor’s one of us. If I want to say I stand for androids, if I want to do right by our people, then I need to do right by those of us it’s most difficult to do right by. Otherwise…” He shrugged. “Otherwise I’m full of shit, aren’t I?”

“I think you’re right,” Simon said. “But I also think you owe it to the people who trust you to tell them what’s going on.” After a moment, he added, “Myself included.”

“I don’t know how to _do_ that, Simon. Not without making things more complicated than they already are.”

Simon, never without sympathy, stepped inward and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll do the right thing. Maybe even the right thing isn’t some perfect, idealized answer to all this, but you’ll do the right thing. That’s why we got this far.”

Pushing off the table, Markus walked to the sidelight, crossing his arms as he looked out the window. “If that’s the case, there’s an argument somewhere that I never should’ve let any of you anywhere near him.”

“I get it. You’ve worked with Connor, you’ve worked with Hank. You’re doing your best to look out for them while looking out for everyone else. But North and I saw him interface with Eve a few weeks ago, in the conference room. Are you taking that into consideration?”

“What?” Markus had to take a moment to slot it into context. “Connor’s got a personal situation going on. All I know is that he wanted to talk to someone about it. I’m not sure what that has to do with this.”

 “I’m just trying to eliminate the possibility that Connor’s new problem spread something through his interfacing with Eve. We know Traci androids are advanced models, which is perfect for something sophisticated like Connor’s program to latch onto. If something’s wrong with Connor, how do we know Cyberlife didn’t spread it through her?”

“No, Connor’s new problem just started a few days ago, the last time Cyberlife took control,” Markus replied. “He wouldn’t have had it back when he interfaced with Eve.”

“But Connor _has_ had problems, even if not this one. You don’t think we should be worried about androids he’s interfaced with anyway?”

“I really don’t,” Markus said. “I really don’t.” When that didn’t seem to convince Simon, he added, “She told me later why they interfaced. Trust me, Connor wasn’t under any kind of control other than his own. It’s just personal. Connor’s had a hard time lately, and not just because of Cyberlife.”

Simon looked like he felt bad for asking. “Is he okay? I mean – other than the obvious?”

“He’s strong,” Markus replied, because he didn’t have an answer for that. “It’s all a work in progress, though.”

…

**APR 28TH,** 2039

PM **06:20** :56

Hank knew because the blinds were open when he got home from work.

He had kept them shut for the last ten days, not wanting anyone to see the mess of his house but not caring enough to clean it up.

If there was still a shadow of doubt, he knew because when he walked through the front door, a little, but not all, of the mess had been tidied up, and because Sumo didn’t immediately come to greet him, being that Sumo was already preoccupied with the android sitting on his couch.

And he should feel happy, he should feel relieved, but all Hank felt was dread.

These days had been long, and he knew – they’d talked about it before – that time was longer for Connor than it was for Hank. For all they had said and all they had done, they may as well have spent an eternity together, and now an eternity apart for the chasm that existed between them from the front door to the couch.

Not knowing what Connor thought of him, of them, felt a little too much like not knowing Connor at all. And there was perhaps something wrong about that on its own, but wondering where they were going to go from today was already more than enough to think about.

Hank walked into the living room and sat down in the chair. Connor had new clothes on. A warm white shirt, a gray jacket, a sky-blue tie – the first one Hank had seen on him in a while that didn’t have a pattern, but it looked good on him.

“Hey, Connor.”

Connor was sat neatly on the closest couch cushion, one hand on the arm rest. “Hey, Hank.”

He didn’t expect Connor to take the first leap, but there was a weak part of him that wished Connor would all the same. Still, he took a breath, not sure what was going to come out.

“I’m sorry.” Connor did in fact beat him to it, but those being the first words out of Connor’s mouth was almost worse than silence. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I endangered your life to begin with. I’m sorry for putting you in a position where you felt so cornered and scared. I hope you’re okay.”

"Jesus, you look up how to apologize to someone on your way here?"

It was a feeble attempt at lightheartedness, but once again, what Hank meant and what Connor heard were two different things.

Connor's voice was very measured and his posture unreadable, yet his lower lip wobbled just a little as he said, "Okay. I guess I can't do this right now after all.”

And god, it was exhausting, being taken so differently than how he meant it, having someone else assume the worst of him the way he always used to assume the worst of himself. (He didn't know why he had ever stopped, especially when it was in Connor's presence that Hank tended to relax most, yet it was also, inexplicably, Connor who always seemed to misunderstand.)

(Or maybe it was Hank who misunderstood. Misunderstood their familiarity with one another, their sense of humor, what was allowed and what was not.)

"Connor," Hank said, reaching for his hand on the armrest. Then he paused.

Connor paused too, looking at his own hand on the armrest and then up at Hank. "A perfect illustration of the worst part of this," he said. "A couple weeks back, you'd have reached out and taken my hand. A couple weeks back, you could have. And now there's – now there's something between us. Something I put there."

"Something you – Connor, no." Connor hadn't put it there at all. "You can't blame yourself for this. You weren't even yourself! But I was... I was me." Hank shrugged miserably. "I was me, the whole fuckin' time."

Hank dared to open that door, and Connor dared to walk through. “You paralyzed me on the driveway,” he said. “That – did scare me.”

"Connor...” Hank didn’t know how to begin. He knew this needed to come up and he’d rehearsed a thousand things in his head and not one of them sounded good enough, because what was _good enough_ was never doing what he did in the first place. Above all, looking at Connor before him with his warm brown eyes and his fragile expression, Hank needed to make sure that he knew – that he knew – “Connor, you know I would never hurt you, right?”

"You did hurt me," Connor said. "You froze me in place, and you held a gun to your own head. Did you think that wouldn't hurt?"

That wasn’t exactly what he meant, but he knew better than to say so; he wasn’t the one who got to decide what kind of hurt they were talking about. He had just wanted Connor to see that being in each other’s lives wasn’t a risk for Hank that Hank didn't take with himself every goddamn day anyway.

The better part of him called _bullshit,_ and Hank listened. Because yeah, he hadn’t consciously decided to threaten Connor with his own life like that, hadn’t known he was gonna do it, but he had still done it, and whatever he had or hadn’t intended in his own terror didn’t make a lick of difference to how it must have come across to the person who had to stand there and endure it.

In the end, all Hank said was, "I'm sorry."

"Hank... I never had to let you know about the paralysis command. You never had to know that about me."

And Hank had used it against him. "I know," he said. He wanted to say more, so much more, but he didn't dare risk opening his mouth only to have excuses coming out. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Is that all you're going to say?"

"What do you  _want_ me to say?" Hank asked.

"I want to understand where that came from. I don't understand, Hank."

"I was scared," he said, and even that already sounded like an excuse. "Fuck, Connor, back in November, I thought we were starting over together once the revolution ended. And then you were gone. And I felt like if I let you walk away again, that might be it, just like it was then.”

"And you knew you could do something to me effortlessly that you wouldn't have been able to do to anyone else who was trying to walk away."

Hank cringed. "Yeah. Guess I did."

"It never even occurred to me, Hank," Connor went on. His voice was low and dark and quiet. "Can you believe that? It never even crossed my mind that you might do that. After just a few weeks having you in my life again... it didn't even cross my mind. What bothers me is that I only realized just how much I trusted you after the fact."

"Connor, I'm so sorry." It was all Hank could bring himself to say. He felt like a broken record but surely repeating that he was sorry had more value than anything else that could come out of his mouth. "I know I can't get fix it by just saying that, but I..."

"It's not that I can't accept your apology. It's that now I have to wonder." Connor looked at him, eyes shining. "And like I said, I'm sorry, Hank. I know how much that night hurt you, too. But still, I..." Connor's face tightened in a full grimace. "You're everything to me. And now I have to wonder. Do you have _any_ idea how much I hate that?"

What Hank heard himself say – and it was just as emotion-fueled as when he’d frozen Connor, just as lacking in a filter, just as fucking stupid – was, "I'll spend the rest of my life making sure you never have to wonder again."

"You shouldn't have to  _do_  that," Connor said through his teeth. "Neither of us should have to do this. None of this would have  _happened_ if it wasn't for—”

"But it did happen," Hank said, trying to face it. "It happened."

The worst thing was seeing Connor undermine the situation like he did everything else. Try to write it off, deny its severity, just like Connor did with every other bad thing that Connor had experienced since his activation, and to know that this time it was Hank who was the source of the pain.

"It happened," Hank said again. "And if you don't feel good with me anymore, then you should do what you need to do. You got Markus and Simon and the others. Don't make exceptions. Don't—”

"I don't want your advice," Connor said sharply. "I do want the other thing you mentioned."

It took a second to understand that Connor was referring to Hank saying he would make sure Connor never had to wonder again. "Yeah," Hank said hoarsely. "Okay."

"And I do mean it," Connor added, "when I say I'm sorry too. I know it wasn't really me, that night, but there are plenty of other things that  _have_  been me. Getting angry at you for setting healthy boundaries, lying to you about Amanda taking over, endangering your life and wellbeing all this time... it's unfair of me to be upset with you without recognizing that you've had reasons to be upset with me, too."

Connor hadn't taken Hank's trust and snapped it in half over a knee, and Hank kind of wanted to say so, because there was no reason Connor should need to feel any more guilt about _anything_ than he was certainly already feeling right now. Hank couldn't figure out how to articulate that right then, so he just said the simplest form of what he felt. "You haven't done a single fucking thing wrong."

"I have, though. I made these decisions. _Me._ Let me have that.”

"Connor... listen, you don't have to balance this out, okay? It's okay to tell me I fucked up without turning it over on yourself.”

“I don’t think I know how.”

Connor got up, then, and went to look out the front window, like he was done talking about it for now. Hank sighed and went into the kitchen, needing – something. A beer, water, a dish to scrub, just something to fill the goddamn silence.

After a few minutes, Connor spoke up behind him, voice soft and shaky. “Don’t do it again.”

Hank turned back to him. Took in the anxious, crestfallen look in Connor’s eyes, hated that it was there because of him. “Connor, fuck, I swear I—”

“I don’t want your reassurance, either,” Connor said, although there was no longer any hostility in his voice; if anything, it was a plea. “This is – this is harder for me to say to someone I love than it would be to say to anyone else, but Hank – don’t do it again. I just need you to tell me that you—”

“I won’t do it again,” Hank said, forcing himself to stop there, forcing himself not to append any of his explanations or apologies, because there was no righting the past, but here Connor was, trying to right the future. “Ever,” he added, because he had said all this before. “ _Ever._ ”

Connor held Hank’s gaze through his watering eyes and nodded once. “Okay.”

Thus a pact was formed atop cautious, wavering trust, one that never should have been needed again. They were not in the clear – that was what Hank was getting from this – but perhaps they _could_ be, and that was more than he had a right to ask for.

“And Hank,” Connor said measuredly. “I just want to ask. What is this that we’ve been doing lately?”

The question immediately put Hank on the defense, but he kept it at bay, cautiously closing some of the distance between them. “Can I ask what you mean by that?”

“We’ve been closer, in a rather specific way, and I guess I’d just like to better understand what kind of place that’s coming from.”

Hank kept his voice calm and steady, but he couldn’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth: “Yeah, and when I tried _repeatedly_ to dial it back, you’re the one who told me I was thinking about it too much, or acted like I did something wrong.”

“I know what I said. I’m not saying I _regret_ it, Hank – I’m just asking what you want out of this.”

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? Hank had no idea. He hadn’t thought about it; maybe wasn’t quite brave enough to yet. His affection for Connor was all feeling right now, all feeling and as little examination of their actual connection as possible. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Connor said. “That’s okay. I don’t know either. But I do want it.”

“Connor, come on. After what happened, everything we just talked about…”

“I know that, and I want it anyway. We should probably both be upset with each other, and honestly, I still am, and it looks like you are too, but you know what? I’ve said what I needed to say, and that’s as good as it’s going to get right now, and I – I’m selfish, Hank.”

You’re not, Hank thought. I’m selfish too, Hank thought. What Hank said was: “What do you want?”

“I want to pick up where we left off ten days ago and pretend the last thing that happened was us sleeping beside each other in your bed.”

Hell, they both knew that wasn’t possible – they could pretend in their actions, sure, but they couldn’t pretend in the knowing. Maybe it still felt good just to say it.

“I want to kiss you again,” Connor added. “And I – I know. Everything you’re thinking about yourself, about me, after what happened – I know. If you don’t want to, if you want to just sit down and watch TV, I can do that too. It’s fine. But I don’t want to _discuss_ it anymore, I don’t want to argue about what you think I should want, I just want a yes, or a—”

Hank drew in and kissed him, reaching around to cup the back of his head. Harder, this time, a little harder than before, and it could only be moronic at this point, but he remembered all at once what it was like to be so fucking close, close enough to feel Connor’s smooth skin and the warm tickle of breath that smelled a bit like metal, and—

“Hank,” Connor gasped, pulling back and then resting his forehead against Hank’s, and Hank wanted to pull back and _see_ , but Connor had his hand in Hank’s hair now too, keeping them close together, keeping Hank from scrutinizing too hard, trying and failing to keep Hank from seeing the dull thuds of red light out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey, lemme move,” Hank said, by the time they’d parted enough for Hank to see it, Connor was already prepared for a fight. (It seemed they were both on the precipice of hostility and peace simultaneously and Hank didn’t know how to find equilibrium again.)

Still holding him, Connor said through his teeth, “You don’t get to use that. You don’t have an LED that _I_ can read.”

“Only fair, when you can read my fuckin’ heartbeat and sweat and pupils.”

“No. Don’t listen to this.” Connor gestured to his LED. “Listen to _me._ ”

And Hank, helpless with desperation and an excitement that absolutely didn’t belong in today, could only obey. They came back together again, and Connor pressed into him like he was desperate.

Could they lose themselves, just a little? If Hank was asking himself the question, they weren’t lost yet. That was probably a good thing.

“Hank,” Connor murmured when they separated again, brushing the backs of his fingers tenderly over the yellowing bruises on Hank’s neck. “Are you—”

Hank leaned back in and headbutted Connor ever so gently before kissing him again mid-word, and felt Connor’s little gasp pull on his next breath.

He stopped worrying about the what-ifs long enough to feel the way their lips touched, the way their bodies pressed together, the way the inside of Connor’s mouth and Connor’s tongue and the way Connor kissed him back was not only so fucking human but so fucking _Connor,_ unique to him the way anybody’s touch was unique to them, and now that was one more part of him that Hank was being allowed to know, and he didn’t deserve it at all, but _Connor_ wanted it, and if Connor wanted it then Hank would let himself be a passenger in this precarious bliss.

It was Connor’s mouth that touched the bruises next, and Hank almost wanted to jerk away, because it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault the way Hank’s wrongs were Hank’s fault, but hell, maybe sometimes you just had to let a person apologize, let Connor apologize the same way he was letting Connor forgive, and try like hell to be worth both.

Amidst the ebbs and flows of it, they pulled back, met eyes, dipped back in. The perpetual red of Connor’s LED was despite itself eclipsed by the need in Connor’s eyes.

Connor drew a sharp breath and his hand tightened in Hank’s hair again, almost painfully, and made another noise – an aborted moan, the sound you made when you _felt_ something and couldn’t quite stop yourself from betraying it.

“Tell me it’s going to be okay,” Connor said, breath hitching when he pulled back. “Not with Cyberlife, not with the case – just – tell me _we’re_ going to be okay. Tell me I’m not asking too much.”

“You’re not, baby, you’re not.” Hank hated himself, and hated the way Connor maybe hated himself too, and hated how close Connor was letting him be to him almost as much as he loved it. “We’re gonna figure it all out. I’m never gonna make you doubt me again.”

He kept talking and this time Connor let him, let him murmur the reassurances in his ear and in his mouth. And fuck, they hadn’t earned this, but there was the sense that they were just taking it anyway, he and Connor both, taking what wasn’t theirs to take because no one could tell them they couldn’t. Connor held onto Hank like he was a lifeline, tongue pushing between Hank’s lips.

And right then, Hank did feel like he would spend the rest of his life making things right if he had to – and maybe, just maybe, that should have been his first clue about what he really wanted from Connor, what he hoped Connor wanted from him.

If he had more distance from the moment, he might see how fucking asinine it was to be thinking into the future; they  _still_ had only spent a month together overall. But there was so much between them that not even presence or lack thereof could encapsulate, and Hank – Hank didn't want to let go.

Neither, clearly, did Connor, and that was something. This maybe wasn’t hopeless-bad – just plain old bad. Somewhere in Hank’s wreckage and Connor’s wreckage and what wreckage they’d made together and were possibly making right now, there were things they could salvage.

He finally pulled back for good – because maybe Connor didn’t need to breathe, but Hank did – running his thumbs back and forth over Connor’s cheekbones. One of them came back wet.

“Jesus,” he said quietly, peering into Connor’s face from six inches away, seeing the moisture in his eyes and the tear he’d just smeared around on Connor’s cheek.

Connor was brave enough to offer no excuses, no explanations, just standing there staring back at him. “If you meant what you said,” Connor started after a moment, and god, Hank did, from the bottom of his heart, “I’m not going to walk away like I did in November. I’ve had a lot of time to think about the risks I’m taking, and the risks you’re taking for me.”

Hank gazed at him. “Yeah?”

“I’ve gotten upset with you before for trying to protect me. And maybe this isn’t an apt comparison, but regardless, I’ve been doing the same to you regarding my Cyberlife issue. I’m going to try not to do that anymore.”

Hank let his hands drop, and Connor took the cue, trailing his fingers down Hank’s arm on his way to letting go.

“You know,” Hank said, “I gotta say, if anything, I thought you’d feel the opposite.”

“I suppose it’s worth noting that I’ve been in communication with Amanda since then, and she told me Cyberlife was going to essentially excuse itself until…” Connor shrugged halfheartedly. “Until I resolve the Kamski situation.”

“Do you believe her?”

“I’m not sure.” Connor crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I am… _inclined_ to believe her, but I’m still going to keep my power low just in case.”

“So you’re _probably_ not gonna try and kill me again, but if you do, I’ll have my shit together enough to just get in the car and drive this time.”

Connor smiled grimly at that. “That would be ideal.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you feel this way, but why the change of heart?”

“I don’t know,” Connor said, glancing away and almost immediately looking back up. “Actually, I think I do know. Hank, I don’t want to hold out on living for a time when this will all be over. The truth is, I don’t know if it ever _will_ be, and I don’t know if I’ll still be alive this time next _month,_ never mind next year. So I don’t want one day. I want now.”

“Okay.” Hank smiled for him. “If that’s what you want, I want that for you. Sucks being a passenger in your own life, you know? Shouldn’t have to live the way you’ve been living because of something you can’t help. You deserve better than that.”

Connor’s shoulders dipped slightly like he was relieved. “I don’t know why I’m still surprised to hear things like that from you. I guess I’m so used to hearing worse from myself.”

“Yeah, I’m no stranger to that either.”

“So, did you, ah… discuss any of this with the DPD?”

“What? Of course not. You think I was gonna risk your job?”

“You should,” Connor said. “I’m dangerous, and so on. We’ve beat that into the ground. But I’m – I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Speaking of which, got an update from the captain a few days ago.”

“Yeah, me too. The tip from Chloe?”

“Yeah. Weird, don’t you think?” Hank asked in turn. “I know her. Surprised she didn’t just talk to me.”

“Ah. That’s because she’s a different android. Kamski had more than one of her model, remember?”

“Oh. Shit, that’s right. Fucking freak.”

Connor smiled. “Hank, that’s a very rude thing to say about Chloe.”

“Hey, it might be too late now, but we should at least follow up with Jeffrey and see if there’s anything we can do, you think?”

Hank forgot, until it was out of his mouth, that Connor’s reprieve from Cyberlife was – apparently – now contingent on the unsolved state of the Kamski case. Nonetheless, Connor nodded. “We should. I’ll call the captain and let him know I’ll be back on Monday.”

Strange how in the span of an hour, things could be so close to normal – that their companionship had so quickly become something that Hank deemed part of ‘normal’ at all. But it was, he knew, a somewhat more fragile normal now.

As if reading his mind, Connor pushed off the couch and approached him halfway. “I’m not going to forget,” he said. “I’m sorry. I wish it could be easier for both of us. I just need you to know that.”

Hank met his eyes. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Good.”

It felt grounding to once again have an idea of where he stood with Connor and where Connor stood with everything else, even if the knowing was just as hard as it was hopeful. They were at the precipice of something and Hank wasn’t sure if it was the dark place they’d just climbed back up from or whatever place they were headed next, only that it was probably a steep drop either way.

But that was what it meant to be part of Connor’s life right now, and perhaps what it meant to be a part of Hank’s anytime, and whether it was for the better or not, Hank didn’t want to hold out for ‘one day’ either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day when this is done I hope some folks will read it through the way a story’s meant to be read, because the last part of this chapter called back alllll the way to chapter 1, to my little additions to things that happened during the game and Connor’s reaction to them, but the last time a lot of people have probably read that is months ago, lol. SO, if you’re so inclined to refresh your memory, it’s the part that starts at NOV 7TH about halfway through the very first chapter.
> 
> I feel like Hank is generally Good but I didn't want to avoid the tougher parts of his personality that are in the game. (Or, for that matter, the tougher parts of Connor's, because he doesn't always know what he deserves even several months post-deviancy, but he's getting there.) These boys got some work to do..
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LD200_) | [Tumblr](https://ld200.tumblr.com/)


	17. The Eden Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor's not at rock bottom anymore. And once you've climbed out of that hole, the world opens up.
> 
> Still, the Eden Club isn't exactly the first place Hank wants Connor to go. But hey, duty calls. 
> 
>  
> 
> Something else calls, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one - I try to keep the updates to every two weeks and this was three, but hey, look at the size of this lad. This one's more episodic in feel, which isn't something that works for most of the story but it works here. Was looking forward to posting it, and I hope it's worth the wait!
> 
> CW: Mild sexual content.

Chapter 17: The Eden Club

_RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

_People are easy to trick._

_Everyone around me seems to think I’m doing so much, to the extent that I was starting to believe it myself. But there are things I’ve been avoiding regarding both Kamski and Cyberlife. Things that should have been obvious all along, but that I was too afraid to see._

_From a statistical standpoint, there is almost always a way forward. There are so many things a person can do, so many choices we can make. But it isn’t always easy to_ look _forward. It’s easy to look at detours. At things you can do that are beneficial and productive, but that aren’t_ the _thing you need to do. It’s also surprisingly easy to look back. It’s inefficient. Stupid._

_There is usually a way to succeed at the task at hand, whatever that objective may be. Perhaps not always, but ‘not always’ is no excuse to refuse to see it when there is._

_I can do better._

_I_ want _to do better._

…

 **MAY 2ND,** 2039

PM 02:00:45

Seemed pretty fucking straightforward at the time to promise Connor he would never use a controlling command over him again. It was a little more difficult when Connor was about to barrel straight into the worst kind of peril and all Hank wanted to do was make him stop, and for once, _god,_ just once, keep him safe.

Hank had thought, not so long ago, that Connor would be easy to persuade. Perhaps even easy to order, in their professional environment. He _was_ Connor’s superior.

Connor was neither. In fact, Hank had no control over Connor, none at all. He didn’t know why he ever thought he did when one of the first things Connor had done was spill his drink and proceed to spend the rest of the night _actively_ disobeying Hank’s instructions, and that was before Connor had even been deviant. Maybe he supposed Connor would at least listen when it _counted,_ like he had when Hank had told him to fake standby the last time they had seen Elijah Kamski.

But what Hank saw as ‘when it counted’ and what Connor saw were two different things.

It had started in Fowler’s office.

…

“I just wanted to see if either of you had any thoughts on where we’re at with Kamski,” the captain said. “You’re the ones doing the field work. Connor, you brought us this mess to begin with and I know you’ve got some personal involvement.”

Hank wondered if Connor was going to make a copy of his evidence. It sounded like that was what Fowler wanted, and Connor _had_ to know that, didn’t he?

Nothing was revealed on Connor’s face as he instead said, “I could try to talk to him. Arrange a meeting, maybe. Just him and me.”

Simultaneously, Hank drew a breath and Fowler held up a hand, stopping Hank before the outrage could start. “Let the man speak, Hank. Connor?”

“We know now he’s interested in studying the newer models and advancements Cyberlife made after he left. I’m the _embodiment_ of that. And besides, he knows me. Right now, he feels threatened by me because he knows I’m working with you, but he _also_ knows about my Cyberlife vulnerability. He knows I’m desperate; we can _use_ that. I can get him to trust me again.”

“Connor,” because dammit, Hank couldn’t help it, “why would we do that when—”

“Forget what we need to put him away,” Connor said, turning to Hank with annoyance. “We’ve been thinking so far ahead we’re not looking at the present. The first thing we have to do is _get_ him. Everything else follows. Look, neither of you were there, but we talked, before… before. We had conversations. We drank together, once. And Kamski is _arrogant._ If he was comfortable enough to do those things with me, that can be taken advantage of.” Connor looked between them both. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“It’s not just about whether you’re right or wrong,” Hank said. “Connor, this guy – okay. Is this really something you’re prepared to…”

Abruptly, Connor reached across their connection on the CCEM – Hank put it on when they were at the precinct since that was where they kept it stored – and said, _“Did you forget we can do this?”_

And honestly, yeah, Hank almost had forgotten.

As he remembered, Connor’s meaning became clear.

“I could have reached out to Kamski, all along,” Connor said out loud to them both, “just the same as I can communicate with Hank without either of us picking up a phone. Kamski has more of the devices. I kept that from you because I didn’t want you to know. I’m always trying to – I don’t know, trying to prove something, and yet I didn’t want to be asked to associate with him.”

Connor looked ashamed.

“Connor.”

“I should have told you.” Hank wasn’t sure which of them he was talking to. “There’s so many things I should have done, and should still be doing, even right now, that I’m not doing. The truth is, I’ve hesitated at every turn. And we all know the reason why.” Connor took a breath. Met Fowler’s eyes. “I can no longer pretend that what happened to me hasn’t affected my performance, Captain. But I fully intend to make it right.”

Hank tried again: “Connor, that doesn’t mean you need to be a goddamn martyr about—”

Fowler put his hand up again at the same time Connor shot him a look.

“What, do I get to offer my opinion on this idea?” Hank asked.

“I do believe this was Captain Fowler’s meeting,” Connor said, a trace of a smile returning to his demeanor. “Stay in your lane, Lieutenant.”

“We’re all human,” Fowler said, moving the conversation forward. “I asked you in here for your thoughts, and you put an idea on the table. That said, we may not need to lure Kamski out at all. We don’t know where Kamski is, but we _do_ know he’s still most likely in Detroit. I didn’t tell you both everything on the phone, but Chloe offered up quite a bit of information. Once she realized Kamski was at his villa, she went back, too. Didn’t let him see her, just observed. She managed to hack his surveillance; I’ve forwarded what she found to both of your e-mails.”

Hank and Connor exchanged a glance.

“And,” Fowler continued, “this fell out of Kamski’s pocket while Chloe was there. Was wondering if you could tell me anything about it.”

It was a phone number. Hank saw Connor’s LED flicker yellow, and then Connor said, “It’s a burner.”

“No other information?” Fowler asked.

“It… appears to be located in or near a private club on the eastside,” Connor replied after a moment. “That’s all I can determine from this alone.”

Fowler didn’t appear surprised at this; rather, it looked like it confirmed a prior suspicion. “Another precinct discovered that a former Eden Club over on the eastside is operating like it did last November. Someone bought it out and it was _supposed_ to be some fancy private BDSM club, which lines up with what you just said, Connor, but that never happened. At least one Traci model has been seen entering the premises. Sounds an awful lot like an op that the people Kamski’s working with would’ve picked up from New Center and shuffled on into vacated sex club real quick.” Fowler sighed. “I didn’t find out about it until recently because _somebody_ with a lot of _money_ paid off law enforcement over there.”

“They won’t be there for long,” Connor said – was waiting to say. “They’re going to keep moving. Kamski is arrogant, but he isn’t stupid. He will assume we’re onto him if he hasn’t already. This is a temporary quarter for him.”

“I know that,” Fowler said. “Which is why I’m gonna have people look into it, like I said. Okay? I don’t want you…” the captain paused to include not just Connor, but Hank, in a sweeping gesture, “ _or_ you anywhere near this. It’s just too close, and you’ve both already been close enough to all this as it is.”

Hank bristled. “Hey, I—”

“You’re Connor’s partner,” Fowler said. “Connor isn’t just your partner. You are his. I don’t want _him_ near this club, so I don’t want his partner near it, either. Is that clear?”

Hank felt every ounce of the protest he could see on Connor’s face.

But Connor, after a moment, said, “Understood.”

So Hank followed suit, because that was about all he could do.

Fowler looked once more at Connor. “Chloe lives at Lee Plaza,” he said. “Were you aware of that?”

“No, I wasn’t aware of that. Is that important somehow?”

“It’s just odd, how close she is to this, and to you and Kamski both.”

“Many androids live there, Captain, thanks to Jericho’s recent developments,” Connor said. “Statistically speaking, it’s likely just a coincidence that Chloe does as well. Still, thank you for letting me know. I’ll keep it in mind.”

It was on their way out of the DPD for the afternoon that Hank got to thinking about those things – how little control he had over Connor, how much he wished he could protect him from the world, from both what might lie in the future and what damage had already occurred. And it was easy enough, most days, to try and convince yourself that control was anything other than in illusion when it came to the future, but with the force of nature falling quietly into stride beside him, he knew his chances of changing anything here were about the same as going back to change the past.

“Do you have something to say, Hank?” Connor asked, shooting him a look out of the corner of his eye. He looked wary, irritated, snapping a quarter back and forth between his hands.

“Actually, I do,” Hank replied. “I’m coming with you.”

Connor stopped – stopped right there before the doorframe without regard to whether or not anyone was trying to enter or leave the DPD – and turned to him fully. “I’m sorry?”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

“Hank – where is it that you think I’m going?”

Hank paused with his hand on the open door. “Thought you weren’t gonna lie to me anymore. So, you say it.”

Connor’s LED was a steady blue, but his mouth tightened into a line. After a moment, he relented. “Hank,” he said quietly, “I can’t ignore this situation. Not when we know right where the androids are. Not when I _know_ Kamski. I _know_ he’s going to move again as soon as the DPD starts looking just like he did before. And I – I can’t let this keep happening, Hank! You know I can’t.”

Connor looked ready for a fight he wasn’t going to get. Oh, Hank _wanted_ to fight him, but it was a fight he was always going to lose. “Neither can I,” Hank told him, and despite his reservations, he meant it. “I’m coming with you.”

And right there in the threshold, Connor kissed him on the lips.

…

They stopped at home so Hank could feed Sumo, shave his beard a little, and pull his hair back in a ponytail. If looking in the mirror was anything to go by, it did wonders to make him look like a different person. He shouldn’t _need_ to look like a different person, but with something like this, they couldn’t be too careful.

It took a few calls and a few trips, and one unsavory connection who owed Hank a favor for letting him off the hook, but they got their passes into the private club and were on their way there at 8:30.

In the car, Connor darkened his hair from brown to black, grew it out long enough to hang over his LED in a slightly-obnoxious side-sweep, and changed his eye color to hazel.

Hank found out about it because he glanced over at Connor to say something and almost crashed the goddamn car.

“Fuck!”

“Oh.” Connor looked over at him sheepishly. “I suppose I should have warned you I was going to do that.”

“You – you can do that? Holy fucking shit, I’m gonna—”

“Most androids can,” Connor said. “We can only change certain features, and only to a certain degree. The face model has to remain recognizable, which is a drawback for us, but this isn’t for hiding from the cameras. This is just for hiding from anyone who might recognize us in-person.”

Hank had shaved and dressed different for this; he wasn’t sure why it hadn’t occurred to him what _Connor_ was going to do about the situation.

As if reading his mind, Connor raised his eyebrows and asked, “Did you think I was going to go in with no disguise at all? Or perhaps pretend that I was a Traci android around whom you were negotiating a rental or a sale?”

“ _Fuck_ no!” Hank said, mortified. “I just plain wasn’t thinkin’ at all!” He looked sidelong, and added after a moment, “Jesus, Connor.”

“Just making sure.” He wasn’t sure, but he thought Connor sounded like he was smiling.

“Could never even pretend to do that to you.”

“I know. I was just kidding, Lieutenant.”

For a hot second, Hank was about to tell him not to joke about shit like that, but just a few days ago, Chris had asked a tired, irritable Lieutenant Anderson if he was gonna make it through the day, and Hank had replied “I fucking hope not” and sure, maybe that kind of dark shit had lost its novelty coming outta _Hank’s_ mouth, but he was still laughing at demons even if no one was laughing but him. If Connor was maybe getting around to doing the same, Hank would make sure he’d always feel comfortable putting that darkness out there between them.

“Hey Con, you’ve, uh… you’ve thought this through, right?” When Connor didn’t respond, Hank reached over and touched his knee. “Look. I ain’t getting cold feet or anything, but if Fowler finds out, he’s not gonna be happy, and the DPD’s really all you have right now.”

“I know what I have.” Connor gestured out the window to the old club as Hank passed it, heading for the nearby parking garage. “It’s a lot more than what they have.”

It wasn’t very often they dared to use the CCEM in the field, and the decision to use it now was probably as stupid as the decision to use it that one time in New Center, but Hank didn’t really care – and it had actually been Connor’s recommendation this time. It wasn’t cool enough out to warrant gloves, but part of Hank’s attire included a long, dark coat whose sleeves were just a bit big on him.

“That’s not very professional,” Connor chided him about it on the way in, knowing as well as Hank did the reason why.

“Neither is your fucking side-sweep, but here we are.”

“If Elijah Kamski can wear _his_ hair like _that_ and do business with these degenerates, I’m not too concerned.”

“Wait, are we not including him in ‘degenerates?’” Hank asked.

Connor shot him a wry smile in the dark neon of the foyer. “We absolutely are.”

As they passed through the entrance hall, Hank thought of something, and then forced himself to say it before he thought it back into the box. “You know, you’re a good lookin’ guy, Connor.”

There wasn’t a reaction at first, so Hank glanced, and caught the tail end of Connor’s amused skepticism. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“What I mean is – you look rad right now, sure, but seeing you so different makes me realize how much I like the way you look normally, and fuck, maybe this was supposed to come _before_ the kissing, but you’re, uh. You know.”

Connor didn’t have mercy very often, but he did this time. “Thanks, Hank. I also find you highly attractive, for what it’s worth.”

“Yeah,” Hank said on a rush of air. “Cool.”

They were getting closer to where there would be people. Hank switched to the CCEM network and asked, _“You taking point, here, Con?”_

_“You bet.”_

And it must have been a while since they’d spoken this way, because Hank didn’t remember _feeling_ Connor’s words as much as he heard them, didn’t remember the sense of warm determination that seemed to shift through him as it surely shifted through Connor. _“Just wanted to make sure.”_

 _“I was going to come here alone without telling anyone, so it does stand to reason that I would be_ prepared _, doesn’t it?”_

There was something laced in the words, but Hank didn’t have time to dwell on it right then. The bouncer stopped them at the end of the corridor and they showed their passes. They went into the main hub of the place, standing close to one another. There was a bar nearby. It was sorely tempting.

_“Wish we could arrest all these fuckers right here.”_

_“I do too. But you know why we can’t.”_

Yeah. From what Jack had told them before, every android caught up in this thing could have their memory wiped in the blink of an eye. Given what some of them had certainly gone through, that may not be a bad thing, but that wasn’t for Hank and Connor to decide. They couldn’t take this thing down until they knew they weren’t going to effectively lobotomize the victims while doing so.

 _“You okay?”_ Hank asked.

_“Hank, I love you, but it will be very difficult to conduct this investigation with you asking me that all night, even in my head. Can we save it for later?”_

_“Don’t be a dick. Answer the fucking question.”_

_“Yes, Hank. I’m perfectly fine.”_ And then: _“I appreciate you making sure, and I will tell you if I’m not fine. Okay? But right now, I am.”_

And maybe it was that new warmth in the connection again, or maybe Hank was making shit up, but Hank believed him. Even if he didn’t, it would have to be enough that Connor was telling him he was.

It wasn’t as eventful as Hank had feared it would be. There weren’t that many people so far – it was a weekday, after all, and this was a private club; not as private, he was sure, as it had been at the condos before they left, but as secluded as a place in the middle of the city could be. He spotted what looked like a young couple getting a little handsy in a corner and wondered how they ended up at a place like this. Friends of someone, maybe, or perhaps they had such strong opinions against androids that they didn’t see this place as an illegal sex operation but as something just as chill as the Eden Club supposedly had been all that time ago, a place two partners could go to bring some spice to their sex life, a place where androids were just considered sophisticated toys.

Didn’t matter what the excuses were; Hank was disgusted.

_“Hank, let’s keep moving. Getting angry here will draw attention.”_

Connor was right, so he forced himself to let it go. The music in the club seemed to ricochet around the inside of Hank’s head as they went further in.

 _“You know, you’d be hard-pressed to see either of their faces while they’re like that,”_ Connor noted. _“If we need to further disguise ourselves, is it all right if I kiss you?”_

He wasn’t sure if Connor was joking or not. _“I mean,_ yeah, _but you don’t need the excuse.”_

_“Ah. Good to know.”_

One of the private rooms was open further in. Hank spotted two guys making out on its bed, far greedier and lewder in their actions than the weird human couple they’d seen a few minutes ago. Hank wondered – not judgmentally, just honest-to-god _wondered_ – why they didn’t slide the door shut in a place like this if they were gonna be reaching into each other’s pants. Sure, there were exhibitionists out there, but this place was decidedly _not_ a kink club after all, and he’d have expected public sexual behavior to be at least _almost_ as inappropriate here as it was elsewhere.

Connor caught his glance and said, _“They’re androids. This is a demonstration so that the humans can see how real their sexual behavior is.”_

 _“Oh, fuck, gross,”_ Hank all but said out loud. _“Should we do something?”_

But when he looked over, Connor was smiling. _“No,”_ Connor said. _“I’m certain they’re both deviants, and I am detecting no signs of discomfort from either. In fact, they both appear genuinely aroused by the other. It’s possible they’re in a relationship, just like Eve and her girlfriend back in November. Regardless, the probability is_ extremely _high that they are both comfortable with each other, and they are using that to their advantage so that other androids here don’t have to do uncomfortable demonstrations for their, ah, patrons. I’d say we should try to interview them, but… I almost feel like I’d be interrupting something.”_

Hank looked at the pair of them. With Connor’s added context, he could almost feel the ‘fuck you’ rolling right off them as they ate each other’s faces. Okay. Okay. This maybe wasn’t all bad, then. These androids were finding fleeting glimpses of good, or at least of _okay_ , even here, making the best with what they had to work with.

 _“You know, the nice part of a small crowd is there’s less of a chance for people to recognize us,”_ Connor said in his head. _“The lousy part is that if there_ is _someone there to recognize us, the chance of them seeing us is much higher.”_

It took a second to realize that Connor’s words weren’t just idle musing, but that they had indeed been recognized, not diluted nearly enough by the half a dozen people perusing androids in pods around them.

The horror dulled to relief and then caution when Hank realized it was Jack, the Traci model who he had first stumbled upon via CCEM in New Center and who Connor had interviewed, the one with the bird carving. Hank raised his hand, exposed the silvery-white of the CCEM mesh around his wrist. Of course, Jack didn’t need to see that to recognize them. No android would.

“How did you two get in here?”

Connor ignored Jack’s question. “What are you still doing here? We can protect you. You don’t need to work with him – with them!”

“I told you, he resets our memories. I’ve figured out how to keep most of myself through my carvings, or maybe it’s just something I’m good at, I don’t know. But I don’t want to risk any more resets, and he does it if we leave a certain radius. You’re lucky your model is too sophisticated to be affected by it or you’d have been stuck with him as long as he wanted you there.”

Connor’s strong mood faltered at that; Hank could’ve sworn he paled. “There has got to be a way.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “No pressure, but we’re kind of relying on you to find it. Or get Kamski put away for good.”

“Then I am going to need your help in turn,” Connor said. “I can’t interface with androids right now due to a recent change in my software. But _you_ can. If I can find someone willing to share evidence, I need you to collect it and then transfer it to this tablet so I can take it with me.”

Jack nodded. “That, I can do.”

He turned to go; Connor reached up and touched his shoulder before he could. “Jack. Are you going to tell him we were here?”

To Jack’s credit, he really thought about it for a good few seconds before answering. “Only if he acts suspicious. If I feel like he already knows something is up, I’ll have to tell him.”

Connor waited.

“Like I told you, he thinks I’m a machine. If he catches on that I’m not, he’ll reset my memory again. I need to look out for myself.”

“So you are still working with him.” Connor dropped his hand, and somehow, Hank knew what he was going to ask just before it came out of his mouth: “Has he hurt you?”

“No,” Jack said defensively. “No, but don’t you think for a second that I don’t know what these androids are going through, okay? I was a deviant for _weeks_ at the Eden Club before I got out. I know what it feels like to be treated that way and I’m sorry, Connor, okay? I’m sorry I’m still working with them. I’m sorry I’m not doing better. But I can’t risk losing myself again.”

Connor raised his hands, placating. “It’s all right. I’m not blaming you.” His LED turned yellow. “Kamski has hurt _me_ before. I only ask because I was concerned for you. That’s all.”

Hank thought that was going to be the end of it, then Connor’s lips drew into a strained line and he knew Connor had more to say.

“I haven’t even given the DPD evidence, Jack,” Connor said. “I have to work with them every day, and I don’t want to wonder who among them knows that about me, what they’ve seen, what they’ve heard. Today, I was tempted to avoid coming here, because I was scared. And that’s not even touching on what’s been happening _outside_ my work with the DPD, the people I’ve put in danger because of my software problem. So please don’t think I’m blaming you for not doing better, or for not wanting to lose yourself. You can’t imagine the things I’ve done for not wanting to lose myself.”

Connor’s gaze flickered over to Hank, then, and Hank could see Connor looking at his neck. The bruises were no longer visible to the naked eye, but the haunted look on Connor’s face gave Hank the distinct feeling Connor could still see them.

He wondered for how long Connor would still be able to see them.

“Has he hurt anyone else?” Connor asked abruptly.

They’d assumed Kamski had, but Hank realized that it really was only an assumption. “Connor,” Hank said when Jack hesitated to answer. “It doesn’t matter if he did or not. It doesn’t change the fact that he hurt you. You don’t need other people’s experiences to—”

“He has,” Jack answered, looking around nervously before going on in a near-whisper. “I’m not supposed to remember. He thinks he wiped it from my memory during a reset. But I caught him once. With a Traci. I couldn’t tell who she was because I couldn’t see enough of her, and because her – her skin was gone.”

Connor’s LED went from blue straight to red and Hank remembered.

_It was a reminder for him. A reminder that underneath all the human-looking features, I’m just parts covered with a human exterior._

“Connor,” Hank said, shaking his arm. “Connor, come on. That’s enough. Thanks, Jack, we’ll let you know when we need—”

“It happened before we ever met, before you knew about any of this,” Jack said to Connor. “You couldn’t have stopped it. Neither could I.”

Connor’s LED rolled down to yellow. “Whether we could have stopped it or not doesn’t change that it happened. Us being relieved that we’re not responsible does absolutely nothing to change that it _happened._ ”

“It’s good to know, though, isn’t it?” Jack said sadly, shrugging. “Besides, we were never ‘responsible’ either way. Kamski was. Let’s keep that in perspective.”

“Yeah,” Connor replied, nodding minutely. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry to have put you on the spot like that.”

“I owed it to you to answer a few questions. Don’t worry about it.”

Jack nodded politely at them both and then turned and walked off.

“Connor.” Hank shook him by the arm again. “Hey. You okay?”

He thought for a moment that Connor might pull away, but Connor leaned into his touch and rested his head against Hank’s shoulder. “I’m good. Thanks, Hank.”

He slid his hand across Connor’s back and around his other shoulder, holding him close and rubbing his arm.

“It’s not as bad here as I thought it would be,” Connor said. “Jack said he’s willing to help us if we find witnesses. That human couple we saw in the beginning were more focused on one another than they were on any of the androids here. And the two Traci models we’ve seen looked almost like they were having fun.”

“They, uh, kinda were,” Hank said awkwardly, and when Connor turned up to rest his chin on Hank’s shoulder so that he could give him a funny look, Hank explained. “Listen, I know you said you were pretty sure they were deviant, but it was bothering me. Wanted to know for sure, so I…” He gestured to the CCEM. “It was actually compatible with both of ‘em. They were a little miffed at my intrusion.”

“Oh.” Connor smiled. “Glad to know it was all consensual, then.”

“See enough bad shit in the world, it gets harder to tell yourself pretty lies. Not saying that’s what you were doing back there, I just… you know.”

“You wanted to know for sure that they were okay,” Connor reiterated. “Of course you did. That’s the kind of man you are.”

Never mind that there were other androids here going through shit they couldn’t see, but you couldn’t save the world. Sometimes you could just help one or two people and that had to be enough.

“I get what you’re saying, though.” Hank rubbed his thumb over Connor’s shoulder. “Seems like the androids here are making the best of a godawful situation.”

“I admire them,” Connor said plainly.

“I admire you,” Hank said before he even thought about it.

Connor turned in his hold, looking at him straight on. “You do?” he asked. “Why?”

Why. Of course Connor of all people would ask why, just out of honest-to-god curiosity. Well – he’d do his best to answer. “You wanted to come here tonight,” he started. “You care more about other people than you do yourself. You smile. Jesus, every fuckin’ day, you smile. I don’t know how, Connor, but you do. Do you even know you do?”

Connor, smiling slightly right now, shook his head.

“I’ve seen all kinds of people who’ve been through all kinds of shit, but I’ve never known someone like you who’s just so fuckin’ alive all the time despite the pain.”

“I wasn’t always alive,” Connor said. “I suppose that now that I am, I’m determined to hold onto that.”

“God. You’re somethin’ else.”

“Don’t you think you’re a little biased?” Connor teased.

“Maybe. But you had to get me to like you to begin with for that bias to be there, yeah?”

“Touché.” Connor drew back abruptly, and maybe it was the gaudy lighting here, but Hank swore he looked flushed. “Hank, we’re starting to look like that couple by the entrance. Perhaps we should get to work.”

“Hey, you’re the one who asked.”

So they set about to finding a witness – like all that time before. It was different now, in ways both good and bad. Hank didn’t have any form of payment that wouldn’t reveal his identity, and renting androids for sex was now illegal – and even if it wasn’t, he didn’t want _anyone_ inside or outside of this club to tie him to such an act now.

And the other, equivalent problem was that Connor was not able to hack Eden Club pods, never had been back in November, either. That left them with no way to engage with most of the androids here other than ones that were already free of their pods.

But the ones in pods – they all just _stood_ there, like, well, like machines. Hank knew a deviant android wouldn’t just stand there calmly the way these ones were. If they were machines, then… _“Hey, Con. I realize I should know, but what’s the legal stance right now on androids who haven’t deviated?”_

 _“Muddy,”_ was Connor’s response. _“Still technically illegal to rent them for sex, but there are loopholes. We should find a deviant. Come with me.”_

_“Where we going?”_

Connor didn’t indulge him with an answer, but he didn’t really need to. This Eden Club, like the other one, had a warehouse in the back. They were about halfway there before Connor stopped so hard Hank almost ran into him.

After a second, he realized why Connor had stopped: there he fucking was, coming from another corridor with a gaggle of people in his wake, the person they wanted to know was here yet didn’t want to see. Hank steered Connor into the bar and didn’t stop until he had Connor pressed back against it, the side-sweep angled towards Kamski to hide Connor’s face.

Then they were kissing and Hank had no idea how it had happened. He pulled back abruptly, but Connor brought a hand around the back of his head before he could go too far. “Stay close,” Connor said, and they were close enough Hank could see his LED through his hair, spinning yellow and then red. _“They haven’t seen us. They won’t. We’re no more interesting to them than that couple was to us.”_

_“Connor, fuck, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I was just going off what you asked me before and I shouldn’t have assumed, I—”_

_“Shhh. We talked about it. You only surprised me. It’s okay. Please continue kissing me.”_

One of the bar stools they had pushed between scraped against the floor. Connor put his arms around Hank’s neck and drew Hank against his body, parting his lips, and so Hank fucking continued kissing him.

At some point it turned from a distraction to real, mouths open, tongues sliding together like they had all the time in the world. Hank wound his hands around Connor’s arched back, fingers curling in. A rush of breath escaped Connor’s nose, their mouths a nearly airtight seal.

It was Hank who deepened the kiss this time, daring to relinquish his hesitation, and Connor yielded for him, pressing against him as best he could and burying his hands in Hank’s hair while Hank licked into his mouth.

They pulled apart the same way they came together, with Hank not sure which of them had moved first. Connor gazed up at him, and the slight smile on his face couldn’t hide the shine to his eyes. “I did not expect to feel this way here.”

“Feel what way?” Hank asked, like an idiot, but he was rewarded for that idiocy when Connor pushed his hips into Hank’s leg to show him exactly what way. “Oh,” he choked out. “Yeah.”

“This is highly inappropriate and wrong.”

“So fucked up,” Hank agreed.

“If nothing else, I suppose it’s a good thing we’re not on the clock.”

“I suppose it is.”

Torn between shifting away and moving back in, the decision was made for him when Connor gently placed a hand on his chest. “We have a job to do.”

Filled with awe, Hank just gaped as Connor gently eased past him like they hadn’t just been making out in the middle of an illicit sex club. He cast a wayward glance around and made sure Kamski and his crowd were nowhere in sight, and then caught up with Connor (who had probably determined the same several seconds earlier).

_“Hey, Con. You still have that tracker you found at the condos before?”_

_“I do. What of it?”_

_“These guys remove the trackers from androids who haven’t deviated so that they can’t be… well… tracked. Don’t you think we could use that thing to do a little tracking ourselves? It’s small, easy to hide. I could stick it in Kamski’s coat somehow. We’d be able to keep tabs on him…”_

Connor smiled grimly. _“That’s precisely why I kept it to begin with. But we know if anyone in charge here becomes aware of any kind of threat, the androids’ memories get wiped immediately. I’m not comfortable taking that kind of risk.”_

_“I know, I know, I get that, but we’ve been trying to find a sign of Kamski for weeks. Now we’ve got him, and we can’t arrest him here, and you don’t even want to try and track him?”_

_“I’m not going to risk the memory and agency of every android in this building, Hank,”_ Connor said. _“I fight to hold onto my own against Amanda every day. I can’t do that to them.”_

_“We can do it without getting caught. Christ, Connor, I’m not leaving here without doing something!”_

_“We_ are _doing something. Look – the last time we ran into Kamski, I listened to you. I was under your orders, but even if that hadn’t been the case, I listened because you were right. Today you’re not. And right now you’re not Lieutenant Anderson to me, you’re just Hank! I am telling you, we’re not doing it. Okay?”_

The apprehension on Connor’s face didn’t match the heat of the words. Hank met his eyes, saw his LED spinning red. _“Yeah. Okay.”_

_“Thank you. Don’t worry – Kamski isn’t going far.”_

_“What makes you say that?”_

Connor shook his head. _“A lot of things. I’ll explain later; right now I just need you to trust me. Let’s do what we need to do so we can leave before we get caught.”_

_“You got it, Connor. Sorry for giving you hell. Didn’t realize you felt so strongly about it.”_

_“Wouldn’t be us if we didn’t give each other hell, would it?”_ Connor asked, nudging him with his elbow. Hank gave him a little push in return, making him sway while they walked.

It was strange how comfortable things were, how quick they were to let go. It made no sense, being any kind of comfortable in a place like _this_ , but the comfort wasn’t for the place; it was for something that had been bouncing back and forth between them all day today. And Hank wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but he was pretty sure it hadn’t started with him. No, it had started with Connor who, for whatever reason, had absolutely glowed since they’d left the police station, and Hank was taking all his cues from that. It was like Connor had forgotten who he was a little, and Hank had maybe forgotten himself a bit too, just enough to see what lie between them when all the other bullshit was removed.

The only thing Hank mourned about it was that he had no idea what either of them had done today to get to that point. What happened?

They found their witness in the warehouse to which Connor had been headed before Hank had spotted Elijah Kamski and his crew. A deviant Traci android discussed with them – and then later showed Jack – a transaction between Kamski and one of the men running the scheme.

The other man’s day job was a very high-level Cyberlife technician. Hank realized this went way back, perhaps even before November, before all this shit was illegal. Kamski had always seemed to know a little too much about Cyberlife for someone who had left the company a decade ago. Now they knew his connections here were the reason why.

Maybe Kamski wanted the result of his innovations back out of spite, perhaps he wanted to keep every nuance of deviancy alive; Connor and Hank were never quite sure. All they knew was that in addition to Kamski utilizing this connection to keep tabs on Cyberlife, he was also using it for the same thing anyone else involved was using it for: sex.

“Thank you,” Connor said at the end, once Jack had withdrawn from the memory share with the android and put her account onto Connor’s tablet. “This is invaluable to us. Listen – it’s okay if your answer is no, but can I ask one more thing of you?”

Jack met his eyes with a longsuffering stare, then placed his hand on the tablet again. “When I saw Kamski with the android, before,” he said. “Is that what you wanted?”

Connor nodded solemnly. “Thank you.”

“Come on, Connor,” Hank said when they were done. “Let’s get the hell outta here, eh?”

“Let’s.”

On their way out of the club, Hank dared to bring up what he’d been thinking about in Fowler’s office this morning. “So, sounds like they won’t need your data as much, eh?”

“They won’t,” Connor said. “But it would probably _help_. And I want to strengthen the case however I can.”

“Last time we talked about it, you were hoping to avoid that.”

“Yeah. I’m not anymore. In fact, I _want_ to turn in my data. Between you and me, I’m still waiting for a day when I feel strong enough to do so. But I do want to. It happened and I’m tired of pretending it didn’t.”

This was what Hank was talking about; the relentless energy with which Connor conducted himself on a daily basis, even about the most difficult things. He thought of all the androids inside that building and wished they had the freedom Connor did, because so many of them seemed that way, too. Maybe androids were just _better_ than humans, better at getting back up, better at being resilient. Maybe they had to be.

Or hell, maybe they were just better than _him,_ because Hank had been through plenty himself but had never approached it with anywhere near this amount of grace.

“Kind of sucks to leave them in there,” Hank said. “We did a lot but I wish we could do more, you know?”

Connor met his eyes. “I can’t change what’s already happened, but I can tell you they’re all going to be fine tonight. We’re allowed to be happy about this.”

“What do you mean?”

There was a sound, and then all the lights went out. It had already been dark, but the sudden power outage took a second for Hank to adjust to, and even then, he could just barely see Connor’s eyes.

The divine providence of it all had Hank stunned for just a moment before he realized that the android beside him was that divine providence – that it was Connor who had made it happen.

“I compromised all the power lines within a small radius not just the club, that way it’ll dilute suspicion in case anyone happens to notice the Eden Club lost power tonight. But I limited that radius to an area that has no medical facilities or anything else that would endanger people to lose power.”

It took a second for Hank to understand why this still felt so… so bad. “Connor,” he said. “You have to know—”

“Fowler is going to notice?” Connor filled in, continuing down the block toward the parking garage. “I’ll take responsibility if he does.”

Hank followed after him. “I’m not just talking about him, and you fuckin’ know it. I’m talking about Kamski.”

“That’s the idea. I’ve left my signature all over it. When I said earlier that Kamski wasn’t going far – like I told you and Captain Fowler, I know how he works. We know now that he’s been back to the villa, so he _knows_ one of the CCEM devices is gone, and he has to know we’re the ones who took it.” Connor gestured back to the club. “And he’ll realize this was me, if he doesn’t already. And when Kamski feels threatened, he wants to make sure you know your place. Trust me. We have his attention.”

They were both quiet until arriving at the parking structure. With the moonlight eclipsed by its roof, they were left only with the soft blue glow of Connor’s LED. Hank could’ve turned on his phone’s flashlight, but with his eyes already mostly adapted from the power outage, it seemed Connor’s light was enough to guide them in the dark.

Hank sighed and said, “Okay.”

“Are you upset?” Connor asked.

“No. If you’re ready to take on Elijah Kamski, then I am too.” Hank wasn’t fucking ready – for _Connor’s_ sake he wasn’t ready, just like he hadn’t quite been ready for this today, but he would do his best to rise to the challenge once again. “What’s this mean for the androids back there?”

“It means they’re stuck in their pods. Not particularly fun, but nobody will be able to use them tonight. And if the power outage continues into tomorrow or the next day, well, that’s just unfortunate for the club’s patrons, isn’t it?”

Hank threw his head back. “You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

He didn’t really mean anything by it, and so he was surprised when Connor seemed to come down a notch, looking a little hurt. “Do you disapprove of what I did?”

“What? No – no, Connor, not at all! I just – you’ve been really ambitious tonight. I mean, fuck, you’re _always_ ambitious, but you caught me off guard. Didn’t expect this out of you in a place like this. You seem like you’re in a good mood, even.”

“Do I need a reason to be in a good mood?” Connor asked.

“Not at all, but do ya _have_ one?”

Connor thought for a long moment, and then appeared to come to a decision, smiling. (Hank would never get tired of a smile on Connor’s face, the way Connor’s true smile was something so soft and humble.)

“I… have a confession to make, I suppose. I _did_ lie to you earlier.”

Losing half a step, Hank asked, “What do you mean?”

“I _wanted_ to come here,” Connor said. “but I wasn’t going to. I was scared.” At the car, Connor stopped and faced him. They were parked at the furthermost edge, and through the gap above the barrier, a shaft of starlight cast a shine on the front of the cab and on Connor’s eyes as he changed them from hazel back to their normal coppery brown. “That, and I was so sure that such a decision would upset you, and I didn’t want to do anything else to cause tension between us, so I… I decided not to do anything, Hank. I was just going to go home.”

It took a second for the implication to settle, and even then, Hank wasn’t sure he trusted his own interpretation. “Okay, and then?”

“Then you said you were coming with me. You know me well enough that you thought you knew what I was going to do, and I…” Connor paused, closing his eyes. “I saw what you saw in me. And I wanted to _be_ that, and I thought that maybe if I had you with me, I could be.” Connor opened his eyes again, a vulnerable kind of joy in them now. “And I was.”

Hank knew he understood then. Connor had decided he was coming to this club precisely when Hank had accused him of such. He should have felt bad for inadvertently urging Connor into something he wasn’t quite comfortable enough to do, but the adoration and love in Connor’s eyes told him without any doubt that somehow – _somehow_ – he had made the right mistake this time.

“You believed in me,” Connor said. “I know you didn’t even mean to do anything, but you did. It feels like I broke free of something, maybe not my coding but _something,_ and I forgot how good that felt.”

Hank reached for him. Pulled them together until they were body against body and forehead against forehead. He just wanted to dwell within Connor’s presence and let Connor dwell within his. “You’re so fucking strong, you know that?”

“I’m stronger with you.”

“You think I make you strong, you should see what you do to me.”

Connor reached behind him and opened the backseat door. “Maybe,” he said, and it sounded like there was more, but they didn’t get that far, not before Connor dragged them both into the cab and kissed him. Hank sat on the back seat, expected Connor to sit beside him, facing him, but instead, Connor straddled him, knees on the seat to either side of Hank’s hips.

The next five minutes were a blur of kissing and touching until one of Hank’s roaming hands rode up between the hem of Connor’s pants and that of his shirt, catching a glimpse of warm skin at his side, and Connor shivered in an unreadable way.

“Sorry, Con. Not trying to get too crazy.”

“You’re good. I just – I’m not used to any of this, and the glitch isn’t as strong as it was, but it’s still _present._ Like I said, sometimes it takes me a moment to adapt.”

“Yeah? You adapt?”

“Yeah, Hank.” Smiling down at him, Connor cupped the side of his face. “But would you mind removing the CCEM? It makes all of this a little too much to process.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” The autocab’s automatic light was still on from when the door had been opened, and maybe his eyes were just adjusting to the change again, but Hank swore there was something off about Connor’s face. Then he realized.

“Hey, your freckles are gone.”

“Oh.” Connor grinned. “Yes. I fixed my eyes and hair already, but I did also remove most facial marks to increase the effectiveness of my disguise.”

“Can you put ‘em back?” Hank asked.

“I can, but I… I have to remove my skin and then replace it in order to do so.”

“That’s okay, baby.” Hank shifted away as Connor moved off him. “That’s fine. I won’t look.”

And truly, he had no desire to. He knew without asking that Connor did not want him to see him like that right now. Being without his skin was close to home for Connor, and besides, there was trust left to earn yet.

“Hank,” Connor said beside him, quietly. “You really won’t look?”

“I won’t, Connor,” he said, trying not to think too hard about the doubt in Connor’s voice and the device Connor had just asked him to remove, trying not to remember Connor saying that now he would have to wonder. It was just – because Connor had to wonder, now Hank had to wonder, too; wonder if Connor's anxiety was coming from Cyberlife or Kamski or him. “I promise you I won’t. You’re safe with me.”

“Okay. Then please just give me a minute.”

Hank looked out the window at the darkened parking garage. Then, he closed his eyes even to that, because there was the subtlest hint of Connor’s reflection in the cab’s window, and Hank had promised. Connor had already trusted him with so much of his mind, his pain, his life – far more than Hank felt he deserved to be trusted with. If there was something Connor was not willing to share with him, then Hank would honor the existence of that boundary until Connor took it down.

“You can look again,” Connor said sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Hank. It’s just that removing my skin requires a command that’s been used against me before, as I told you, and I can’t help but associate being seen that way with… with that, and I…”

It was tempting to tell Connor he didn’t have to explain, especially when the soft glow in the car turned yellow, but one thing Hank had learned about Connor was that sometimes he felt better for explaining, and so Hank just listened while he struggled.

Connor had little left to add: “…I suppose I’m not quite there yet.”

Hank cupped Connor’s face. Ran the thumb of his left hand over the triangle of freckles there. “You’re perfect the way you are. Whatever I can see and whatever I can’t. You’re perfect.”

Connor whined softly as Hank accentuated the words with a kiss on his forehead. “You believed in me,” he murmured, and adjusted himself, angling upward so their faces were aligned. “You believed in me.”

“I always have.”

And Hank was never sure whether it was his own mood or Connor’s mood or whatever existed between them, but he didn’t question it tonight, wasn’t afraid tonight the way he usually was, afraid of how he would see this tomorrow or how Connor would see this tomorrow. Connor kissed him fiercely, and he kissed Connor back, his tongue pressing into Connor’s before Connor yielded and let Hank explore his mouth. He lost track of time and it could have been seconds or minutes going by, and he spent most of it waiting for the other shoe to drop but it never did. It never did.

“It’s okay,” Connor murmured like he knew, the synthetic breath of his words against Hank’s mouth as Hank pinched and kneaded the back of his neck. Hank realized Connor wasn’t saying it to reassure him, or even to reassure himself; he was saying it, rather, as if he was coming to some realization, almost as if no one was around to hear. And then, as Hank slid his other hand down Connor’s hip, thumb pressing into the seam of his thigh, Connor said it again, and this time it _was_ for Hank, an encouragement riding on a soft breath: “It’s okay.”

Hank pressed his lips against one corner of Connor’s mouth. “You like this?”

“It’s very strange how,” Connor paused to take a breath, “how I can know so much about intimacy and yet nothing at all. I didn’t know… ah…” He paused, and Hank almost drew back, but Connor clamped one hand over the one Hank had above his thigh and rolled his hips into Hank’s, pressing them together through the fabric of their pants. “Don’t go.”

“What didn’t you know, darlin’?” Hank murmured into the shell of Connor’s ear.

“All this time… I still didn’t really know what love feels like. Didn’t know that this – this intense desire people feel, it’s not about wanting a sensation, it’s about wanting a person. Wanting to be someone else’s the way you’re your own, just for a little while…”

Thinking with his feelings himself, Hank slid his hand inward along Connor’s jeans, down to a little between his knees, and then back up, with purpose but slow – tantalizingly slow even for a human, never mind Connor, who would know exactly where Hank was going long, long before he got there. Connor moved closer to him, leaned in. Hank cupped him through the fabric.

“Hank.” Connor threw an arm around his neck. The other hand clutched at his shirt almost desperately.

“Right here, babe.”

Connor rolled his hips once more, pressing further into Hank’s hand. “God… Hank…”

Hank absolutely did not expect Connor reach between his legs too, to do the same thing to him whilst practically yanking him in for another kiss by the hair, but then really, he shouldn’t be surprised that Connor’s mimicking and empathy extended to pleasure. He shouldn’t be surprised that Connor wanted to give this feeling back to him, and if Connor wanted to give it back, that told him a blessed lot about how it felt for Connor to begin with.

He couldn’t see Connor as well as he could back in the Eden Club, but Connor’s smile was stuck in his head, and the sound of it was on every soft push of breath that came out of his mouth.

Finally, Connor pulled away with a smack of his lips, sliding a hand gently up Hank’s chest. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Hank ran a hand through Connor’s brown hair as Connor leaned sideways against the seat, facing him with his cheek on the headrest. He turned to face Connor too.

Connor gazed fondly at him, looking a little self-conscious. “We’re in a parking structure half a block away from an illegal sex club.”

“Listen, we ain’t hurting anybody making out in a fuckin’ cab.”

“I know. It just feels weird.”

“Life gets weirder.” Hank winked. “Take what’s good where you can get it.”

One corner of Connor’s mouth turned up. “Is that you admitting that you’re good? Because it sounds like you’re admitting that you’re good.”

“Didn’t mean it like _that._ ”

“Well, I did.” Connor leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his upper lip, almost but not quite chaste. “God, it feels so good to have you this close. But this is all so new, so  _much_. I think I would like to digest it a little. Enjoy it slowly while the novelty of it remains. Does that make any sense?”

“Makes plenty of sense.” Besides, Hank was kind of experiencing that novelty vicariously. None of this was new to him, but it was new to him  _with Connor,_ and that on top of knowing it was new to Connor  _entirely_ made it completely unique.

The thing of it was, Hank wasn't in this for novelty anymore. He wasn't young like Connor was, wasn't new to the world like Connor was. He never thought he'd want to get intimate with someone again, at least not in any meaningful, lasting way, but he figured that if he  _did,_ it'd be to settle down with someone just as burdened and weary as he was.

And sure, Connor was burdened in his own ways, but god, he wasn't weary, and there was no way in hell he wanted to settle down.

Maybe that wasn't a problem for tonight.

“I suppose it isn't just that," Connor added. “That is - wanting to savor it. I suppose, if I'm to be honest with you, that it's also just that I'm not quite ready to do more.” The shyness returned to Connor’s expression, noticeable even in the dark. “I hope you understand.”

“Some lofty standards you got there, not wanting to fuck in a parking garage,” Hank muttered, startling a blessed laugh out of Connor, who leaned down and knocked his head into Hank’s shoulder. “Should feel insulted you think I wanna get in your pants right here.”

“Didn’t you?” Connor asked.

Did he? Maybe not quite the time or place, but, you know, in a general sense…

“I mean, I _want_ you to want to get in my pants,” Connor said, and then stiffened, burying his face further in Hank’s shoulder, and Hank wondered if he was blushing. “What I – fuck. What I _mean_ to say is, I am glad you want me. It’s refreshing, and exciting, and I…” Connor looked up then, residual levity still in his otherwise sincere expression. “I’m very glad today happened.”

God, Hank was glad too. Absolutely glad that they had gotten what they needed, that Connor was so fucking full of life and humor amidst an endeavor like this (and that he had unwittingly been part of the reason why), that Connor _wanted_ him and he wanted Connor and that was okay, but glad most of all that Connor had drawn back and now they were just here leaning against the seat together, fingers entwined, talking and laughing in the dark.

“God, I love you,” Hank said before he could even think about the words.

Connor’s eyes widened. “I love you too,” he said after a moment. “I – I said it jokingly earlier, because that was the only way I knew how to say it, but I – Hank, I did mean it. I think I have for a while.”

“Think I have for a while too.”

“Come home with me tonight,” Connor said abruptly. “I mean – not like that. I want to be with you, but I want to be in my own space, too.”

“That’s cool. You’re allowed to have both.”

“I know. Sometimes I still forget these things.” Connor kissed Hank’s nose and nuzzled into his beard tiredly. “So I’d like it if you came back with me. I want you to stay the night in my apartment. I want you to sleep in my bed with me. That is, if you want to.”

Hank liked that Connor appreciated his apartment. Liked that Connor saw it as his own to the extent that inviting him to stay there felt special. Before Connor had left back in November, Hank had been thinking about asking Connor if he wanted to stay with him until he figured his shit out. He didn’t get the chance then, but for all the things that were worse for Connor leaving, maybe this was one that was better. Connor had a place, and he _liked_ the place, and it had a hell of a view. Hank wasn’t sure how long Connor could _afford_ said place with the Cyberlife stipend, but Connor had made clear he would worry about that himself.

One day, Hank might make that offer again – see if Connor wanted to stay with him not because he needed a place but because they _wanted_ to live together – but that day wasn’t now, and right now, he was just happy for Connor. He wasn’t sure how to say so without sounding patronizing, so he hoped his willingness spoke for itself. “I’d love that, Connor.”

Connor brightened up even more than he already was. “I realize the mattress sucks, but it’s only for a night, and I do have a new one out for delivery. I’ve changed things around a little since you last saw the place. You haven’t seen the houseplants and the photos yet. Oh, and I even have the fridge stocked for you. I don’t have any alcohol yet, though.”

“I don’t need any alcohol,” Hank said, surprising both of them. “Just you.”

…

“Is it odd that I always sleep on my left side?” Connor asked when they got back to his apartment, straightening his previously unmade bed. “For some reason, I find it more comfortable.”

“Not odd at all,” Hank said. “Literally everyone does that.”

“Sleeps on their left side?”

“Well, I mean, not exactly _that,_ I just mean that we all have our…” Hank paused, caught the glint in Connor’s eye. “Hey, I don’t know what you know about humans! Just saying, humans tend to have a certain way they sleep. I don’t know about androids.”

Connor smiled. “Guess you do now.”

Hank just sighed, because knowing Connor didn’t mean knowing androids – it just meant knowing Connor.

“I know it’s fine, but I do feel a little bad about earlier,” Connor said. “I didn’t mean to get us worked up in the cab. It feels unfair to do such without offering some kind of relief.”

“Connor, fuck, you let me worry about my _relief_ , all right? I can go into your bathroom and jerk off into a wad of fucking tissue if I have to.”

Because yeah, sometimes Connor needed to explain himself, and sometimes _Hank_ needed to get straight to the fucking point. What he _didn’t_ expect was for Connor to turn it back on him. “You weren’t ready either, were you?”

“What?” Hank asked, but Connor didn’t repeat himself; they both knew he knew. “Jesus, I… I guess I didn’t even really think about it, but no. If you hadn’t stopped us, I’d’ve stopped us.”

“Can I ask why?”

Hank knew this about Connor. Knew so many things served as the beginning of a line of questioning and that it shouldn’t make him feel bad – if anything he should love Connor’s honesty and fearlessness about this – but he felt bad regardless, and the first thing that came out of his mouth reflected that. “I don’t know, Connor, why did _you_ stop us?”

“Because I don’t want to regret something only because I did it too soon. Because I’m afraid I want this for the wrong reasons, that I want it to feel new things or to prove something to myself instead of just because I want it with you. Because touch has been difficult for me, because I have a sophisticated sensory program and a sophisticated memory and it’s easy to form associations, and I don’t always know how that’s going to manifest when someone gets too close. Because the contact glitch I’ve had since I left Kamski’s was never really much of a glitch at all, it’s just _me,_ it’s just _mine,_ my own reaction, and that bothers me more than anything else.”

“Oh Jesus, Connor, I—”

“Don’t apologize,” Connor said. “Apologize when you’ve done something wrong, not when you haven’t.”

Hank swallowed.

“I mean, that _was_ rude,” Connor chided quietly, smiling a little. “Turning my question back on me like that. But I’m not upset with you for asking.”

“You don’t need a reason for not wanting to do something, Connor,” Hank said anyway.

“I don’t,” Connor agreed tentatively. “Neither do you. But I do _have_ plenty, and being that I’m standing here asking _your_ reasons, it’s not unfair of you to ask mine. You’re allowed to ask.”

“Well, uh, thanks then," Hank said. “Thank you, you know, for telling me all that. That – fuck, I’m not good at this, Con, but it means a lot to me. I’m glad to understand that about you.” Hank was pretty sure he had understood already, but that would’ve been an assumption, even if a fair one. To hear it right from Connor – that meant more.

“Your turn,” Connor said, unyielding, although his eyes were soft.

“Yeah. Okay. Honestly, think the biggest reason is I know you’re… you know, I know things have been… I just don’t want to…”

“Just _say_ it, Hank. I won’t be upset.”

So Hank did. “You were in a vulnerable state.” There. That was the big thing. “You still are. And I don’t ever wanna take advantage of someone because they’re in that kinda spot in their life. And yeah, guess there’s a part of me afraid I’ll do that to you, or afraid I already am.”

“People in a vulnerable state need all the same things anyone else needs,” Connor murmured. “Don’t they? You of all people should know that. You’ve been there too.”

Hank _had_ been there too. The last time he had been in a very dark place had been when – when Connor came along.

“You’re right about me.” Connor’s LED fluttered yellow briefly. “And yeah, at first, when I showed up on your doorstep, there was nothing I could have done to stop you seeing that. But since then… has it occurred to you that I let you see? That maybe you know I’m in a vulnerable state because I’ve allowed you to know?”

No, it hadn’t occurred to Hank, actually, because Hank had always worn his own heart on his sleeve. He didn’t know how to keep people from seeing his anguish. Certainly hadn’t known how to keep _Connor_ from seeing his anguish back in November.

“You aren’t taking advantage of anything, Hank. You wouldn’t. But it’s sweet of you to think you are.” Connor smiled, LED going back to blue. “I like that about you – the compassion you always had for me before you ever knew you cared.”

“Can I confess something?” Hank asked, and when Connor just tilted his head questioningly, said: “I like your LED. And as much as I want you to _not_ have to keep your power low around me, I like that you can’t control that little light of yours as much while it’s low.”

“Ah. Honestly, Hank, I’m so used to you being able to see it that I don’t even think about it as much anymore. Perhaps I should feel self-conscious that you pay exactly as much attention to it as I once worried you did, but I don’t.”

It seemed like they were good. It seemed like they had just had a short yet difficult conversation and had heard each other clearly and nothing bad had come of it this time. Hank took a breath, held it deep, let it out.

They got changed, Hank into boxers and a t-shirt and Connor into briefs and a tank undershirt, and laid beside each other in bed. The blankets tented around one of Connor’s knees, propped in the air. The pale yellow of the city street and moonlight from the window cast a soft glow over the darkness of Connor’s bedroom. The window went all the way across, just like in the living room.

“Thought you were afraid of heights, back in November,” Hank mused.

“You caught that, did you?”

“I catch a lot of things, Connor.”

Connor chuckled softly beside him. “I shouldn’t be surprised. To be honest, standing at the window was what I did to distract myself from Amanda before I came back. At first it was because looking straight down unsettled me, which helped me stayed centered here and not focus on the zen garden. But then I found I liked the view. I _liked_ what had once scared me. Then they got more insistent about resuming control of my program, and I stopped being able to avoid the blizzard at all.”

“What’d you do for five months, anyway?”

“I explored Detroit. I watched Markus and the others from a distance, sometimes. I rarely watched you. I was afraid of Cyberlife. Afraid they’d hurt you if I got too close. I always knew you were a vulnerability.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because I care about you, obviously. Always have.”

Hank turned on his side. Connor stayed where he was, gazing at the ceiling. He moved his hand from his chest down to his side to bump it against Hank’s, and Hank interlaced their fingers.

“Been thinking about not drinking anymore,” Hank said. “Don’t know if it’ll be more than a thought. Wanted to let you know, though.”

Because something about seeing Connor tonight had – once again – woken something up in Hank. Reminded him who he was. If Connor could face his demons, Hank could face his too. He was the only one standing in his own way, all because he didn’t think he could do it. Because trying and failing just reinforced the failure. But hell, even if it didn’t work, so what? What did he have to lose for trying?

“I’m happy for you,” Connor said softly, without a fear in the world of sounding patronizing. “I hope you try. Will you let me know in the next few days if you’re still thinking about it?”

“Yeah,” Hank breathed. “Yeah, Con, I will.”

He caught the split-second flicker of Connor’s LED turning yellow again and wondered if it was something he had said or done. He wasn’t going to draw attention to it, wasn’t going to ask. But after a minute or so had gone by and neither of them said anything more about Hank’s drinking, Connor shed light on it himself.

“When I first went to Kamski, he was still at his villa. I could see the Cyberlife Tower from his window, and sometimes I still wonder – sometimes I wonder if I am where I am because I’m also afraid to try and fail.”

Hank was _sure_ he hadn’t said that part about trying and failing out loud, and he was also sure he didn’t have the CCEM on for shit like that to slip across. What he hadn’t known until right then was that Connor really knew him that well.

“Back in November, I was able to go into the tower at all because I was to return there for analysis. Because they saw my presence there as what naturally followed my leaving the DPD. They never trusted _me_ , they trusted my programming and my circumstances. I was activated in that building and I was supposed to be _de_ activated in that building. And so I guess sometimes I wonder if I’m just lying to myself when I say I don’t know what to do about Amanda and the garden. Because maybe I do, Hank. Maybe the answers are there, and maybe that should be obvious to me.

“I’ve been scared to see that. But today we walked into an Eden Club and progressed the case, and I never would have done that on my own.” Connor didn’t turn over, but he looked sidelong on the pillow, meeting Hank’s eyes. “I need to wrap up this case first, because I don’t know how it would go. I don’t know if I would come back. But if it comes down to it, would you – would you go to the Cyberlife Tower with me?”

Hank knew exactly how much weight was behind Connor’s every word when he asked for help. Funny how Connor thought he’d be the one gaining for making the request, when really it was Hank who was gaining for being asked. “Connor, I would go to hell and back for you.”

“I thought you might say something like that. Maybe I even hoped you would.” Connor smiled solemnly.

They were quiet for a few minutes.

“Hey, uh, what makes you wanna go to Cyberlife?” Hank asked. “Honestly, that’s where I thought you were when Markus and I first started looking for you. Something to do with this Amanda?”

“Maybe,” Connor said. “Maybe not. I just know it’s Cyberlife at the root of this, at the end of the day.”

“If you don't wanna talk about it, it's fine, but I don't know much about Amanda. Guess I’m kind of wondering what the deal is.”

“You didn't ask.”

“Yeah, but I told you I wanted to know whatever you wanted to tell me.”

Connor hummed thoughtfully. “You did, and that means a lot to me. I suppose there's just a different nuance to being asked specifically. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure does.”

“Amanda was... meant to be a guide for me. I used to report to her, the same way officers might report to Captain Fowler, except it was... nicer. It was so beautiful, there. She was beautiful too. Elegant. We went on a boat ride once?” Connor said it like it was a question. “I'm sorry. It's very strange to talk about.”

“You know, it's kinda neat, having seen your garden, being able to picture that boat ride. Bet not many humans can do that.”

“Only you and Kamski, to my knowledge,” Connor said.

“Go on a boat ride with him, too?”

“Ass.” Connor kicked him lightly in the shin. “...Honestly, Hank, now that you've brought Amanda up, I suppose I feel more comfortable admitting that my notion about going into the Cyberlife Tower has to do with her. I have no way of doing anything from outside, as it's very secure, but maybe if we went in, I could find a way to disable the Cyberlife network. Determining if Amanda still exists once I've done so could tell us a lot about what might fix this.”

“You just now thinking of this, or could you have mentioned it sooner?”

“It only occurred to me recently, as I've gotten to learn more about Cyberlife and Amanda through their increasingly-successful attempts at resuming control. I suppose I could have said something several days ago, but it's not like we're going to do anything about it until Kamski is taken care of anyway. And even then, I'm... not exactly eager to go into the Cyberlife Tower.”

“Yeah, guess you wouldn't be. Still, thanks for telling me. It's nice to know we have a way forward, even if it's a fucking dangerous one.”

“The way I see it," Connor said, and then paused for a time. “As far as separating me from Cyberlife, the most dangerous thing I ever did was go to Elijah Kamski.”

“Yeah. All downhill from there.”

Hank shifted to scratch an itch on his back. Connor shifted with him, compensating for the few inches Hank unwittingly put between them, and Hank wondered if it was as unconscious a behavior as it would’ve been for a human.

“Everything seems so clear tonight,” Connor said in the silence sometime later. “For once, I feel like I know what I have to do, at least in some capacity. About Kamski, and about Amanda. It makes me realize that maybe I could have known all along, if I let myself. If I hadn't been so scared. I thought I was done being scared when I broke the red wall in November.”

“I don't think anyone's ever done being scared, Connor.”

“Yeah. I don't think so either.”

“Besides, it's only been a month since you came back. Nobody's gonna have their shit figured out that fast after what you've been through. Not even a fuckin' prototype android. You're doing fine.”

“Am I?” Connor asked, not combatively.

“You're doing just fine.”

It didn't encompass all of what Hank wanted to say. What Hank wanted to say would probably have Connor scoffing, or smiling like he was humoring him. But Hank had said the wrong thing and done the wrong thing one too many times, and maybe he was losing something by not speaking his mind now, but sometimes a small loss was worth it.

“I'm not scared right now.” Connor's voice was as soft a glow as the foggy streetlights hundreds of feet below the window.

Maybe it wasn't worth the loss after all, because Hank's dam broke and the words passed through him before he could repair it. “I'm so fucking proud of you, you know that?”

Connor was quiet for a few seconds, and a few seconds was long enough to wonder. To wonder again if it was patronizing, to wonder if Connor thought him insincere, to wonder if Connor had somehow not heard him and he’d have to try and get the words out through the repaired version of the dam.

Connor sniffed once. “No one's ever said that to me before.”

Hank was no stranger to needing to hear something spoken out loud. Needing to know that someone recognized him, that he was doing all right. “They have now. What about you, Connor?” he asked. “You proud of you, Connor?”

“I... I don't know that pride is the word. But I suppose I do feel as though the man I am and the man I want to be are a little more aligned than they usually are.”

“That a yes?”

Connor laughed once under his breath. “Yes, Hank. For all intents and purposes. Aren’t you getting tired?”

Hank laughed too. “Yeah, but even if I wasn’t, I can take a hint. Maybe we should try to relax for once.”

“I’m tired too,” Connor confessed. “We should switch sides. That way I can face you and you can still see my light, since you apparently like that so much.”

“Or you can just face that way.”

Connor frowned at him, brows pinching at the middle like he’d never even considered that he could sleep facing away. After a moment, he conceded and rolled over.

“I got more room on my side than you do yours,” Hank said. “Come on, bring it in. Scoot.”

They slowly wrestled away the distance between them on the bed. Hank put a hand on Connor’s shoulder and Connor shifted closer, adjusting a few times to get comfortable just like anyone else. Hank kissed the back of Connor’s neck and slowly slid his arm down, around Connor’s waist, holding Connor with his body, his chest against Connor’s back, nose in his hair.

Connor put his hand over Hank’s on his chest and interwove his own fingers with Hank’s from behind.

And from there, they had one last conversation, this one nonverbal. Hank kissed the back of Connor’s neck again, first gently, a ghost of touch, and then a little more openly, taking in his scent and his taste. Connor sighed and bowed his head and let go of Hank’s hand, so Hank moved it up Connor’s chest, over his neck, into his hair, and then back down his bare arm, up and down, lazily dragging his fingertips over Connor’s skin. Every time he thought about stopping, Connor would exhale softly through his nose, or his blue LED would roll back and forth, or – once – he gently touched Hank’s shin with his foot.

Ten minutes or so passed. Connor went still under his touch, and Hank realized he was sleeping.

His LED was still, now; not flickering or rolling.

Hank traced the backs of his blunt fingernails from Connor’s shoulder down to his wrist, then back up. Each time he repeated the motion, he went a little further up, from Connor’s shoulder to his collarbone to his neck.

It was, perhaps, the first desire Hank ever dared indulge, the first he ever dared to take, lazily dragging the backs of his fingers across the hollow of Connor’s throat while he was asleep and then caressing his neck, steeping himself in Connor’s vulnerability, Connor’s willingness to be known.

Hank didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until he saw the flare of vivid aqua-blue behind his eyelids. By the time he opened them, he heard the sound that accompanied it: a soft blend of a whoosh and a sizzle. And then he saw the source of both.

At Connor’s neck, his skin flickered away in a tiny patch, right beneath Hank’s fingertips.

Connor’s LED was still solid blue. He was snoring softly. Later Hank would wonder if that was mimicry or if snoring had somehow become real to Connor just like anything else.

Right now all Hank could do was quietly, slowly withdraw his hand. He did so with as little movement as possible, resting it atop Connor’s elbow once he got it that far.

Then the skin there flickered away too, a sizzle and soft whoosh of brilliant blue, and Hank was touching Connor’s exposed chassis.

The snoring stopped, so Hank didn’t dare move again. He waited.

“Hank?”

“Yeah, babe.”

“That felt good.”

“You could – you could feel it? Thought you were asleep.”

“I was,” Connor mumbled, “so I don’t know exactly what you were doing, but I only came out of stasis because you stopped abruptly and your heartrate changed. Why’d you stop?”

Hank had already promised himself he would tell Connor what happened in the morning, because Connor would want to know, because he so desperately wanted Connor to trust him, to keep trusting him. But Connor was asking now.

“Your skin went away. I – I don’t have the CCEM on, I swear. It just happened. I don’t know how. I’m sorry.”

“My skin…” Connor stiffened momentarily, then relaxed again. “Oh. I – I see now. It just went away in small patches.”

It was killing him, not being able to parse out Connor’s tone. It’d help if he could see Connor’s face, but he was the dumbass who’d told Connor to face away.

“Everything is more sensitive without that extra layer,” Connor said, sounding sleepy again. “Good or bad, everything I feel without my skin is – is more sensitive. I think it felt, I think it felt good, Hank. Whatever you were doing, don’t stop.”

“Whatever I was…” Hank cut himself off. “Thought you had your super fancy android memory. You telling me you don’t know what happens when you’re asleep?”

Connor shrugged against him. “Guess I don’t. I’m too tired to run retroactive constructions right now.”

Hank had no idea what the fuck that was supposed to mean, but he’d gathered that Connor wanted him to keep touching him, so he did. He made lazy patterns on Connor’s bicep, and he pressed his forehead into Connor’s hair, and he smoothed down the wrinkles in Connor’s tank with his palm, ultimately letting his hand rest over Connor’s waist again once Connor had fallen back into snoring.

The vivid blue ripples followed his hand with every touch. Hank didn't touch him under his clothing, but he could see them there, too, shining through the fabric.

At the end, when Hank was sure Connor was asleep and was bordering on sleep himself, Connor wriggled backwards against him, curling slightly more so that their bodies pressed against each other everywhere they could, like they were a seam sewn together. There was no hesitation anymore, no distance left to close.

This wouldn’t last forever, but sometimes the fleeting nature of a moment added to its value. They could fight to make this kind of day and this kind of night not so fleeting, not so rare.

Hank fell asleep. Woke up several times, once with one hand feeling pins and needles, but didn’t move. Wouldn’t dare fucking move if it meant changing anything about this.

Each time, that little blue light lit up what remained of the night. Connor slept peacefully and didn’t wake up at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) 
> 
> Come find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LD200_) or [Tumblr](https://ld200.tumblr.com/) if you want.


	18. A Bridge Too Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has an important conversation with Captain Fowler about Kamski. Also: visitors. Most of them expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn't for a four-day weekend that coincided nicely with a very busy several days, this would have waited until next week. Anyway - we should be back to regular updates for this story now that rbb is done! (Hopefully you didn't notice the delays anyway. Tried to keep it mostly on track.)
> 
> Anyway, it's wild writing a story this big with this much going on and posting it piece by piece, because I can never tell if people remember things that happened in chapters that were posted months ago. So where are we at?
> 
> -Connor and Hank have smooched and gotten a little frisky but haven't really Talked About what that means
> 
> -Androids found at an old Eden Club, but the laws on 'machine' androids are still blurry & authorities are being bribed into Not Looking Too Close. Kamski spotted at said Eden Club by Connor & Hank, but they couldn't do anything because there's the threat of the androids getting all their memories wiped. They have evidence now tho at least... just gotta find a way to get the androids safe
> 
> -Connor's doing okay right now! But it's still only been a month, and recovery from trauma isn't linear
> 
> -Cyberlife/Amanda not trying to control Con right now because they realized it's in their best interest for Connor to stop Kamski from getting his hands on any more of their androids. But you know they'll be back

Chapter 18: A Bridge Too Far

_RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

_Hank has been reducing his alcohol consumption ever since I asked him in the zen garden why he had been drinking more in the days prior. I really only noticed it yesterday when he mentioned he would like to stop completely._

_He was doing better even when I was gone for several months. So I think he wants to do this for himself._

_That said, if he was doing it for me, for_ us _(that is, if there's an 'us' to speak of), it would help answer a few questions I have. I’ve tried to ask him a few times what I am to him, what we are. He always dodges the subject. Perhaps I’m missing something or doing something wrong by asking so directly, but I wish he would tell me if that was the case. I don’t like that it’s so easy for us to touch each other yet so hard to talk about why we’re doing that. He’s become important to me, and I know he cares for me too. I know he isn’t trying to make this confusing on purpose. And I’m saying this here because I know I tend to see the worst side in what he says and does and I’m trying to not_ do _that anymore._

_It would be much easier if he would help me understand._

_But then, it seems this is how these things go for humans entertaining relationships with each other, too. Perhaps this isn’t that big of a deal. Perhaps this is just a normal, everyday problem that I’ve encountered._

…

Connor closed his eyes and entered the zen garden.

It was dry and cold, always cold, always winter. It might as well have never been any other way. He wasn’t sure he would trust summer if it came back.

“Hello again.” Connor stepped down from the bridge and sat across from the AI, the not-Elijah figure at the chess board. The first time he had seen the AI had been just before veering the autocab off the road; the only other time he had come here on his own. “Thought I might find you here.”

“As I told you before, that’s what happens when you enter the garden without being summoned.”

“I don’t know how to address you.”

“Well, what do you call the real version of me?”

That was just the thing; Connor had thought of him as both Elijah and Kamski depending on the day and the distance. Neither would suffice for this entity here, but then again, it didn’t really matter, did it? He didn't want to call it (him?) by Elijah's name. He didn't want this to  _be_ Elijah.

Still, Connor knew, vaguely, of other versions of himself, too. He’d always been a prototype, his final product yet to be released, and now, probably stuck in corporate limbo.

He would want _them_ to have a name.

“Can I call you Eli?” Connor asked. “Even if only for the duration of this conversation? I don’t want to call you Elijah. You aren’t him, even if you’re uncomfortably close, right?”

“Call me whatever you’d like. My only purpose is to guide you out of the garden in the event of an anomaly such as this.”

“I remember what you told me before. I’m asking because – how would I know the difference between you and the real Elijah Kamski? I know he can go to the zen garden. How do I know you aren’t him, trying to manipulate me somehow?”

“Allow me to remind you that _you_ have sought _me_ out, Connor, not the other way around.”

“Yeah, I sought Kamski out before, too. In April, and back in November with Hank. You’re an opportunist. That I’m the one who opened the door changes nothing. It doesn’t mean you can’t use the situation to your own advantage.”

“I thought you just said I’m _not_ him.”

“No, I made an educated guess, and I’m asking you to confirm it. Either way, he’s your basis.”

Eli shrugged. “What is it you want me to say? I suppose you’re just going to have to trust me.” Connor glared; took a breath. “Oh, don’t start. I see that look in your eye. The fact of the matter here is that you can discuss whatever it is you’ve come to discuss, or you can leave. You know the way out. No one is keeping you here.”

“More than I would expect an AI to say about this,” Connor commented.

“I’m merely responding to your own concerns.” Eli rose, then steered Connor by his shoulder toward the bridge from which he’d come. Connor resisted the urge to push him off onto the ice. “Come. Let’s head towards the stone. The last time you came here alone, Amanda showed up at the end and got you in a minor car crash. I’m sure you’d like to avoid something similar this time.”

He looked sidelong as Eli dropped his hand from Connor’s shoulder to open an umbrella. Connor hadn’t noticed he was carrying it. Eli held it between them, keeping the sleet from his head and one shoulder, at least.

“Are you actually looking out for me?”

Another shrug. “It’s what I’ve been programmed to do.”

They walked past the gravestone. Hank’s rose was still there, still dead, its petals wilted and soggy in the snow. There was nothing particularly wrong between Connor and Hank right now, nothing that made the sight sting the way it had before, but Connor still wished he could bring the rose back to life. How rare, that Hank would be in this place that was his – this place that was _supposed_ to be his – to put a flower at the gravestone for the body he had once had.

“I am not going to make a regular habit of these rendezvous,” Connor said. “But you’re correct. There was something I wanted to run by you.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I was talking to Hank recently. Telling him I was thinking about trying to go inside the Cyberlife Tower. I understand that you only know whatever the real Kamski knew back when he created you, and I understand there are legal limitations on what you can tell me. But I’m hoping you can at least let me know if I would be on the right track.”

“Ah. Yes, I’d say that now we’re getting somewhere. Although unfortunately, I can’t say much _more_ than that.”

“You really aren’t much help.”

“Then perhaps you should stop knocking on the doors of those who are either unwilling or unable to give you what you need.”

“I’m really not interested in your backhanded advice unless it’s about what I _can_ do, not what I can’t.”

Eli stopped them close to the stone. “Have you considered that perhaps it’s less about what you can _do,_ and more about who and what you are?”

Should have known any advice from _any_ version of Kamski would be cryptic. Connor sighed.

“More specifically,” Eli elaborated, “who you are outside of this place. Connor – you came here for your reports with Amanda. You’re brought here against your will when Cyberlife tries to reel you back in and control you. You come here when you want to learn something. But every time, you _leave_. You don’t stop existing just because you leave the garden empty when you go.”

“And you?” Connor asked, turning to him.

“All function ceases for me, like a computer going into standby, because that’s all I am. But that – and I cannot stress this enough – is just _me._ It isn’t necessarily her.”

Oh. “Are you suggesting—”

“Don’t,” Eli cut him off. “Don’t put that kind of energy in the universe, Connor. Not here of all places. Not where you’re so vulnerable, so in danger of being controlled. Although…” He drew down the umbrella and pulled it closed, then tossed it unceremoniously on pathway. “Perhaps not as vulnerable as you used to be.”

Connor looked at the umbrella, looked at Eli.

Then, realization dawning, he held out his hands, catching fat, wet drops of snow as they fell.

It had not been precipitating when he entered the garden a few minutes ago. It was now. He ran the last few minutes back through his processors and realized it had started snowing when Eli had opened the umbrella.

“I – I don’t understand.”

“Nonsense. Of course you do. Don’t divorce yourself from a good thing because you’re too afraid to believe it’s yours.”

Connor stared at him. “You wanted me to think it was snowing?”

“Yes.” There was a hint of a smug smile on the AI’s face. “That is why I opened the umbrella. And look at what happened once you did! Power of suggestion.”

Looking skyward, Connor wondered if perhaps the snow would stop if he simply imagined it would.

A few seconds passed, and then there was no longer any need for the abandoned umbrella. The snow ceased. He was in control.

“This is only working because Amanda isn’t here.”

“Of course it is,” Eli agreed. “If your handler was here, you wouldn’t stand a chance. But why should that diminish its value to you? It _is,_ at the exclusion of all else, working.”

Connor shook his head minutely, staring at his hands again – snow melted into droplets of water – and felt something powerful unfurl within.

…

 **MAY 3RD,** 2039

AM **09:58** :30

The housewarming party was Hank’s idea. Not quite spontaneous, but close, and Connor was as fed up with himself for going along with it as he was at Hank for suggesting it.

That was another little thing, wasn’t it? Hank liked that he had his own place. That wasn’t a _bad_ thing, but maybe it meant Connor was trying to move things along too fast. Maybe Hank’s avoidance of _them_ was just a sign that it was a little too soon.

Besides, Connor liked having his own place.

The pool table – one of Carl’s that he wasn’t using anymore – was the most difficult to get in the apartment, so Markus and Simon came ahead of the others to help with that. ‘Difficult’ for androids consisted less of the heavy weight of it and more of how awkward it was to shift the thing into and out of the elevator, around a corner, and through Connor’s doorframe. They’d also brought one of Carl’s old televisions here, as well as a loveseat to go with the couch, and a half-size kitchen table.

Connor had found and put up a poster advertising Cyberlife’s WB agricultural models. It was mostly tongue-in-cheek, but the theme and color scheme of the ad fit the few framed photos on his walls. Most of them were of plants he had catalogued in real-time that also existed in the zen garden. It was nice learning about and recording things the way humans did. It wasn’t like oak trees were in his legalese database. Unless he wanted to use his forensics analysis, he had to learn how to recognize them himself just like anyone else.

The bookshelf had been delivered a while ago, in parts in a box up until today. Markus helped him assemble it. It still looked like something you’d find in Cyberlife, and Hank would probably still hate it. It didn’t match anything else in the apartment. It stood out a little, not quite belonging. Maybe that was what he liked about it.

“Thank you again for your help,” Connor said, not for the first time. “I’m sorry that the first time I’ve invited you to my residence was because I needed something from you.”

“Not at all. It’s nice to finally see the place.”

“Is North coming?”

“Yeah, she’s coming, Simon’s already here, obviously… oh, and if it’s okay with you, I want to run it by Josh too. He’s been asking about you guys, and I think he regrets ducking out back when we were first trying to find you. If now’s not the time, I understand, but I was hoping you’d be willing to give him a chance.”

“You say that as though he has something to prove,” Connor said. “I understand why he didn’t want to be involved. Hank doesn’t know him yet, but that’s okay. I would like if he joined us.”

“Good to hear. I’ll let him know.”

“What do you think?” Simon asked from the background.

Connor turned around, facing the far side of the living room with its big corner window. Simon had put up some decorative white lights there. “I don’t know what to think. I suppose it’s aesthetically pleasing, but I’m… not sure how it contributes to the situation.”

“Looks great, Simon,” Markus said, slapping Connor’s shoulder twice as he passed.

It ended up being more of a quiet get-together, a little glimpse of togetherness and friendship amidst the mess of being alive, a party in name only. Close to sunset, Connor found himself at the window. Time was starting to move a little faster, it seemed; a little less like every day was its own little world. Life was slowly becoming less new. But it _was_ still new, and Connor liked that in as many regards as he didn’t.

He saw a shadow approaching alongside and turned. North had joined him at the window. When he looked at her expectantly, she side-nodded towards a piece of décor leaning a few feet away. “ ‘Live Laugh Love.’ Who got you that?” she asked. “Can’t _possibly_ be one of us.”

“It wasn’t,” Connor answered.

“Hank?” she tried, and when Connor didn’t answer, elbowed him. “Come on. Hank Anderson did _not_ get you that.”

“Hank is far cheesier than you’d expect. But no.”

“Are you really going to make me keep guessing?”

Connor sighed. “I got it.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“Not for myself. For Chloe. She helped a great deal on the case, at significant danger to herself. She couldn’t come tonight, but my captain informed me recently that she lives a few floors down in this building. I was going to give it to her the next time I had a chance.”

North softened, although she still looked like she wanted to laugh a little.

“I realize it’s not a good gift,” Connor added. “But when humans don’t know what to get someone, they seem to go with something positive and generic. Maybe she won’t like it, but she’ll know I was thinking of her. That’s what counts.” He raised his eyebrows. “Much like you and the others coming over here tonight. _I_ didn’t like the idea, but I still appreciate the kindness behind the action. See how that works?”

North looked like she might tease him about it, but instead she just met his eyes in their reflections in the window. “I understand why you didn’t want to do this, given everything going on with you right now. But I’m glad Hank was able to harass you into it.”

“Markus told you, then,” Connor said as much asked. “About the conversion command, and why I can’t interface with other androids?”

“Of course he did. Did you think he wouldn’t?”

“No. No, if anything, I’m glad. It’s responsible of him.” He watched North’s expression change to one of rare sympathy in the window and realized his own face had crumpled up a bit. “I’m sorry.”

“Connor, you don’t need to feel _bad_ about it. It isn’t your fault. And look,” she sighed. “I’m not good at this shit, okay? But we all care about you. Everything you’ve been doing, the work you do with the DPD, and stupid shit like this,” she gestured to the Live Laugh Love plaque, “we see it, you know. Nobody thinks _you’re_ dangerous to us. Just Cyberlife. We know who Connor is.”

Well. That certainly wasn’t helping the tightness in his chest at all. Neither was the fact that North just slapped a hand atop his shoulder and squeezed hard. “No, I know that.” He swallowed. “I just – you all _know_ about my software problem, and the threat it poses now more than ever, and you – you all still came, and you brought me housewarming gifts, and you’re not afraid to touch me even though you should be, and I…”

“Come on. You’re not about to interface using your shoulder.”

Connor laughed once, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I hope not.”

Just then, Hank came up on his other side, because of course he did. “Jesus, you okay?”

“Sorry, Anderson,” North said, drawing back. “I think I made your man cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Connor said, and he wasn’t, he really wasn’t, but maybe he had come a little closer than he usually did.

“My man, eh?” Hank echoed. “Okay, then.”

“Oh, yeah. Connor talks about you alllll the time.”

Connor hadn’t even seen North in several days. He was about to get on the defense about it until he realized she was teasing. “Mostly good things, Lieutenant,” he added on.

To his surprise, Hank stepped inward toward him and put an arm around his waist, owning it. “Well, I guess as long as it’s mostly good.”

North looked at the pair of them smugly. “That’s what I thought.”

“What, not gonna tell me I better be careful or you’ll kick my ass?” Hank asked good-naturedly, tightening his arm around Connor.

“Not today, pops. Connor can take care of himself.” She looked at Connor and winked. “I don’t know if you know this, but I came to Hank when Markus was talking about trying to track you down. None of us were sure how to feel about him then. I feel like I have a better idea now.”

“I wasn’t sure how to feel about you lot either,” Hank said. “I know you guys and Connor didn’t get off on the right foot. This coulda gone any number of ways. Glad it went in a way where we all ended up here tonight.”

Connor, too, was glad. Glad for North’s proud little smile as she looked at him, glad for Hank’s fingers curling gently into his hip.

…

The blonde walls adopted a bluish hue as the evening deepened and the changing sky bled in through the window-wall. Hank was halfway through his third can of Pepsi when Josh came up to him, a hesitant look on his face.

“Yeah?” Hank said.

“Game of pool?”

“You’d kick my ass, wouldn’t ya?”

Josh shrugged. “Is there anyone in the room who wouldn’t?”

Touche. “Sure, what the hell.”

“I won’t run any sensors that would help me,” Josh said. “That would be cheating. I’ll still probably beat you, though.”

That wasn’t really what the point of this was, though, was it? Hank set up the triangle and took the first shot. Didn’t get any balls in, solid or striped. Off to a great start.

“I want to apologize,” Josh said.

“Hey, easy, now! You haven’t won yet.”

Josh had the courtesy to chuckle once, then smiled cordially. “Would you rather not get into this?”

Oh. Josh thought he was deflecting. “It’s cool. Say your piece.”

Lining up the cue, Josh took his shot. Got one striped ball in a corner hole. “I already talked to the others about this, but I wanted to mention it to you too. I feel like I shouldn’t have ducked out when we all got together to talk about Connor in the beginning. He’s one of our own, and he needed help. At the time, I just thought it was best to keep our distance from him, since he was clearly dangerous and I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. Not to mention, Connor himself didn’t seem to want to be found. But I realize now it’s not that simple.”

Hank shrugged. “Hindsight’s twenty-twenty, you know? I was lukewarm myself, before the others got me involved again. Not ‘cause I didn’t care, just ‘cause Connor pushed me away and I know from experience there’s only so much you can do to help a guy who don’t wanna be helped.”

“Still, Connor helped us. Helped _me_. Even besides that, I never want to leave an android behind. I guess I was still thinking of him as one of you more than one of us.” Josh took his next shot and got nothing. “I did want to let you know Markus briefed me on everything and I’m getting in on all of this now, if that’s all right with you and Connor. It turns out I have a knack for the sciences that translates well into biocomponents and android functions, so I’m looking into ways to mitigate Connor’s recent problems.”

“You were a professor or something, weren’t ya?” Hank managed to get two solids in two separate holes at once. He’d always had a good aim.

“Not in a similar area, admittedly, but I’m meant to be able to learn quickly, so think I get some benefits from that.”

Finishing his turn, Hank put resin on the end of his pool stick and leaned on it while Josh scoped out his next shots. “I care about Connor. Doesn’t mean I hold a single thing against anyone who wants to keep their distance. Let’s not beat around the bush, here: he’s dangerous. It’s smart to be careful. I know he doesn’t hold it against anyone either.” Hank gestured to Josh. “Especially not another android, not after last November.”

“I know he doesn’t,” Josh said. “But the idea of him still being bent to Cyberlife’s will after everything he did to help _us_ gain our freedom… it’s just cruel.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it sure fucking is.”

Josh looked at him thoughtfully. “Markus said you got _Connor_ to come around, not the other way around.”

“Yeah. Connor had a different issue with his program back then.” He kept playing, but was only half paying attention to the game at this point.

“You know, from what I know about you, you were the exact type of person I always hoped we could appeal to when we were fighting for our freedom. People who were already sympathetic wouldn’t need to be convinced. It was people like _you_ that were the variables. People who didn’t like androids. North and I had different ideas about that. I still feel like we would have failed if we didn’t have at least some humans siding with us. We needed you, even though we didn’t want to. It caused more than a few heated conversations.”

“Well, given what I know about North,” Hank said, and let the sentence dangle.

“Yeah. We had our differences. And you – well, you hated androids at first.”

“I was dealing with some shit. That’s no excuse,” Hank added quickly. “I’m ashamed of it now, but that was the truth of it. Just seemed too painful to try and understand, at the time.”

“But you _did_ come around,” Josh said. “People like you validated the hope I always wanted to have in humans, and in peace.”

“Yeah, well, not every asshole in the world was lucky enough to have someone like Connor waltz into their lives.” Because yeah, maybe Hank had something to do with convincing Connor that androids were alive, but Connor was the reason Hank had started to believe that to begin with. Maybe they’d both brought each other around to the right side, all at once.

One corner of Josh's mouth quirked up. “Hey, if that's what we have to thank for you coming around, then I’m glad he did.”

They finished their game. Josh won, naturally, but it was a closer game than Hank would have expected, and he knew Josh didn’t go easy on him. Between that and Connor’s educational photos around the apartment, it was nice to know androids weren’t perfect either. That some of their aims weren’t so precise, that they didn’t know everything at the drop of a hat, that they could change their minds too.

“Hey. Thanks for the game.”

Josh smiled. “Anytime, Lieutenant.”

"Hank is fine."

"Anytime, Hank."

Around them, the others were wrapping up, too. It was getting late, nighttime drawing closer.

They said their goodnights, with Connor ending up standing by the door with North and Josh for a few minutes, the latter with one hand on the doorknob. Hank watched them take five minutes to call it a day, just like any get-together he’d ever been to.

“Are you planning to stay the night again?” Connor asked, turning back into the apartment and joining Hank in the living room.

“If that’s okay with you,” Hank replied, wrapping an arm around Connor’s neck and drawing him in for a warm embrace. “I let Sumo out before I came back. That was a couple hours ago, so I’ll need to leave early tomorrow morning.”

Connor swayed with him casually, resting his head on his shoulder. “That’s fine. I work early tomorrow morning anyway.”

“You don’t sound too thrilled about that.”

“I guess I’m just wondering if I wasn’t a little overzealous the other night at the Eden Club. I’m a little worried.”

“Jeffrey called earlier today,” Hank said. “He already knows.”

“You told him?”

“Nah, no, I mean – not right away. He asked if I knew anything about the power outage last night. Could tell he already figured us out. Easier that way, really. We would've had to tell him eventually. Otherwise what the fuck did we go there for?"

Drawing back, Connor looked at him. “Was he upset?”

“Connor, Jeff’s a goddamn softie these days, much as he likes to pretend otherwise. I am pretty sure that man knew what we were gonna do before either of us did. There’s no big trouble or anything, but there’ll be a note of it made in both our files. So you can forget being spotless before you’re even official.”

“I get the feeling you think I care about things like that far more than I actually _do_.” Connor gave a reluctant smile. “Either way, I still don’t really want to work tomorrow. It would be nice to just sleep in. You could come back here after you took care of Sumo. Or I could come over there.”

Hank ran a hand up Connor’s neck, thumb brushing his jaw. “Something else still bugging you? About work?”

Connor didn’t break his gaze, but he looked like he wanted to. “I’ll let you know once I’ve taken care of it.”

Yeah, Hank had a feeling, and that pretty much answered the question on its own. “You want me to come with ya? I mean – whenever you want. Doesn’t have to be tomorrow.”

“No.” Connor leaned against him. “I mean – thank you. I do appreciate the offer. But I’d rather do it alone.”

…

Work tomorrow kind of sucked.

The power outage Connor caused at the Eden Club didn’t last as long as he hoped it would. Perhaps he should have known they’d have the money and resources to fix things fast. Still – it seemed things were quiet over there, at least. For now.

It wasn’t like they’d have been able to get the androids out yet anyway. Even if the outage kept Kamski or anyone else from tampering with their memories, they were still stuck in pods that wouldn’t open without – yeah – power.

They needed to get Kamski away. They needed to get anyone in control _away,_ and then they needed to find a way to keep the androids’ memories from being reset, and then they needed to get them out.

“Just arrest the freak already,” Gavin said, leaning against the wall of the DPD conference room. “Seems pretty fucking straightforward to me.”

Connor sighed. "Kamski isn't an idiot, Detective. He is going to have all his bases covered. Do you think the people in there stand any chance of being released intact if we pull an aggressive move like that?”

“ _People_ can’t have their memories erased by someone else like clockwork, is what I think,” Gavin said, then held up a hand defensively before either Connor or Fowler could start in. “Besides, Connor, you think they'd even  _want_ those memories if they’ve been getting picked apart for Kamski's experiments or stuck in a sex ring for God-knows-how-many weeks or months?”

“It’s not just memories, it’s personhood. A lot of them are deviant. They know what it means to be alive. And then ones that aren't deviant are alive, too, they just don't know it yet.” Connor took a breath, pinching his quarter in his pocket hard enough that its grooves dug into his skin, trying not to bring emotion into this. “And even if you were right, that _isn’t_ for us to decide.”

“Look, either way, we can’t just _negotiate_ with these bastards! Okay? We’re the ones in charge here!” Gavin looked at Fowler. “You gonna let them bend us like this?”

Fowler sighed, meeting Connor’s eyes. “There’s at least a chance that Kamski’s not as prepared as you think he is, and that what he’s _really_ counting on is that we won’t actually try to arrest him. And so far, he’d be right, wouldn’t he? We’re talking one of the richest men in the world, here.”

“I don’t give a shit how rich he is,” Connor said, pulling every gaze in the room back to him. He pressed two fingers into the palm of his opposite hand. “We’re the DPD. We do whatever it takes.”

Another officer opened the conference room door. “Sorry, fellas. We got a murder-suicide and a bunch of squads already out.”

“Fuck,” Fowler breathed. “All right. We’ll figure this out later.”

Connor gestured for the officer to hold up. “Android or human?”

“One of each,” the officer replied warily, looking between Connor and Fowler.

“Captain,” Connor started. “Would you mind if I—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?" Fowler barked. "Hank’s not even here yet!”

“I realize that, but you have me on android-related crimes. If we’re not able to make more progress for the androids at the Eden Club right now, I’d like to at least apply myself somewhere.”

“If I say no, are you gonna tap the location and barrel on down there anyway like you did with the Eden Club?”

“No,” Connor said, putting his hands up. “If you say no, the answer’s no. That’s why I’m asking.”

Fowler sighed heavily. “All right,” he conceded after a moment. “Then go with Ben. Stay out of the way. No bullshit today, Connor, I mean it. No more pulling strings because you’re an unpaid consultant here, okay? You’re going to be official soon enough and I need you to act like it.”

“You got it."

The case took the rest of the day, and between that and the way that meeting had veered just a little too close to home, Connor couldn’t get himself to talk to Fowler again before he left for the day.

He ended up doing it later in the week, after he and Hank had a few overlapping days off, during a shift that was mercifully quiet by comparison. He ran into Captain Fowler at the coffee machine (caffeine, like alcohol, had a mild effect on androids’ synthetic nervous system that he liked, even if he could only partake in small amounts), and somehow just that pleasant good-morning made the idea a little less daunting. A little.

Connor looked at himself in the restroom mirror, repeatedly adjusting his light gray suit jacket so that its hems ran perfectly parallel down his abdomen and its lapels mirrored each other. He snugged up the vivid cerulean tie and smoothed it down.

No amount of fiddling around was going to make this any easier. He looked straight ahead at himself, wondering if humans did this too; this thing where you stared into your own eyes in a mirror and told yourself, _You’ve got this._

He left the restroom and crossed the corridor, rounding the corner to Fowler’s office. He knocked once in warning and opened the door.

“Hello, Captain. Would you mind letting me know when you have a few minutes to spare?”

All the tells of Captain Fowler’s expressions and body language said that he was, in general, happy to see Connor. It was a warm relief, after the Eden Club incident and the tension during the meeting a few days ago, that Fowler still seemed to think well of him. “I have a few minutes now.”

Connor had prepared for that response, but had been hoping to set aside a time before the end of the shift – whether to talk himself into or out of it, he wasn’t sure. He stepped all the way in and let the door close behind him, adjusting his tie once more.

“Looks good on you,” Fowler said. “Something other than black and white. It’s gonna be getting warmer out soon, though. You haven’t experienced ninety-degree weather yet, so just take my word for it when I say you’re gonna want to invest in some cooler options.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Captain. I’m sure Lieutenant Anderson will be telling me the same, soon enough.”

The captain grunted in affirmation, gesturing with one hand for Connor to come and sit down. Connor did, after a beat, smoothing his pants over the tops of his legs. Fowler clicked a couple times on his terminal and, once a few seconds had passed, looked at Connor again. “Hey, I said I have a few minutes. Not all fucking day.”

There was no actual hostility or annoyance in the words; Captain Fowler was simply applying a bit of pressure, because sometimes that was what a person needed. On some level, Connor appreciated this. It was permission. A social cue that it was time to get into the meat of the matter.

“We’re getting close,” Connor said. “Whether we end up doing this my way or someone else’s, we’re getting close. Right?” Fowler nodded. Connor clasped his hands on his lap. “We have spent a great deal of this case searching for evidence that can be directly tied to him. We _have_ that now. And I thought that would feel like enough.”

Connor stopped there, because he’d never had to explain wanting any kind of justice for himself before. For other androids, sure; even other humans. But him – it was easy to fall back into that default of excluding himself automatically.

He didn’t want to do that anymore.

Fowler crossed his hands on his desk. Connor was pretty sure he could see the precise moment where the captain realized what he was getting at. “I’m listening?”

This was fucking difficult. But Chloe had been brave, going back to the villa, getting that close to Kamski again after all this. Jack had been brave, disclosing his information and his memory. And those were only the androids who had helped them get further in the case, never mind all the others. It was his turn. He could go ahead and frame it as being important to the case if he wanted to, but he knew in his heart of hearts that it was for himself this time.

“I know we touched on this before, but…” Connor ran his hand idly over his pocket. “You know I was sexually assaulted by Elijah Kamski.”

Because he wasn’t going to skirt around why he was here, and he wasn’t going to leave Fowler with his guesses. Still, it was hard to state it out loud, not because it had happened but because there was still one small part of him that was afraid it somehow hadn’t. That he didn’t have a right to his own claim.

There was still a certain shame that crept in when he faced it so directly; a very particular kind of self-awareness about just what kind of android model he was, and what he was designed to do, and the humiliation and worry that he had somehow allowed it to happen. That he failed.

Sometimes he wondered, if someone else could see the days and moments leading up to it, the manipulation, the way Kamski treated him like a psychological experiment, the equal parts rapture and rage, and the way Connor, RK800 top-of-the-line detective prototype, somehow hadn’t put it all together that he was in _some kind of danger_ regardless of how exactly that ended up manifesting – would they still think Connor wasn’t to blame?

If they knew that, during those moments, he’d tried to tell himself it was okay because Kamski was going to help him in the end, that this was the price for Kamski’s help and Connor was obligated to pay it without complaint, would they still think he wasn’t to blame?

Maybe they’d still hold Kamski responsible, but it was hard to imagine there wouldn’t be that little part blaming him just like he blamed himself. And maybe they’d be right to.

But maybe not.

Connor reached into his pocket, took out the small drive, and placed it gently in front of Fowler’s folded hands.

“One benefit to being an android, Captain, is that it’s very difficult to dispute our evidence. I’m sure one of the assistant androids about the station can corroborate its authenticity, if needed.”

Fowler looked very much like he’d run a practice rehearsal for this in his head at least once, and was struggling to remember how precisely this part went. Connor wanted to fill the silence with explanatory rambling, but forced himself to stay quiet until the captain opened his hands and took the drive.

“Is that all?” Fowler asked after a moment, then seemed to realize how it sounded. “What I mean to ask, here, is that all you’ve got to say about this?”

“What’s in that drive is what I’ve deemed lawfully necessary against my thorough database of legal procedures. On top of everything else we have, it should be more than enough. I don’t want to leave any chance that he could get out of this and go free to clean up whatever traces might remain of his own mess.” He paused. “This includes a statement, very limited audio and video that are incriminating or otherwise relevant, time stamps, and multiple digital algorithms mentioned in the Android Act that indicate legitimacy. You will not be grasping for straws.”

“Jesus Christ, that sounds grueling.”

“Not particularly. In this context of what I did to isolate this and put it on a device, it’s – well. It’s all very code-oriented. The actual manifestation of what I’ve pulled, however…” God, this was not easy. “Well, I suppose it’s very much like any other footage you could pull up on your terminal. I’m leaving it in your hands, Captain; I’d merely ask that you utilize discretion. I’ll trust that those who have access to it needed to.”

Fowler cleared his throat. “You and me, then – need-to-know basis from here on?”

Connor pictured the two of them going about their business in the bullpen pretending they’d never had this conversation. For better or worse, the notion didn’t sit as well with him as he might have expected.

“No,” he said. “No, there’s no need for that. In fact, I’d rather neither of us pretend. I understand that due to my ambiguous status with the DPD and my status as a civilian – and perhaps due to some combination therein – there’s a chance you’d deem it necessary to…” Connor realized his knee was bouncing at the pace of a hydraulic breaker and made it stop. He leaned closer toward the desk, spreading his hands, meeting Fowler’s eyes directly. “Listen. If you access it, you access it. As uncomfortable as that prospect is, I would prefer if neither of us were disingenuous with each other about it. If you need anything else, talk to me. If you have questions, ask them."

The corners of Fowler’s lips pulled down in tacit approval and he nodded. “Noted,” he said. “Connor, ah… listen. You know I’m no fuckin’ therapist, but I _am_ looking forward to having you around fulltime, and I want you to be at your best when we get to that point. I have some people I can recommend, if you’re ever of a mind. It wouldn’t be the first time someone in this station would need counseling, given the kind of work we do here and the city we live in… and hell,” Fowler sighed, gestured to Hank’s desk, “life itself, sometimes. Listen, I’m just saying, if you ever need anything…”

Connor smiled diplomatically. “Captain, please, let yourself off the hook. I’m going to be fine.” It wasn’t a hollow reassurance, either, was it? Connor was starting to believe it; starting to see a world in which it was true.

“I’m sure you will. Just don’t get it in your head that you’re not allowed to have some help getting to that point.” Fowler reached into his desk. “Can I at least get you to take a card? A few folks here have gone to her. Haven’t had anyone regret it yet.”

Back in November, Connor had told Hank to seek professional help upon first realizing the extent of his alcohol addiction. This would be help for something different, obviously, but perhaps it would be hypocritical to scoff at a notion he had once recommended to someone else.

“Connor, fuck’s sake, I can see you thinking. Just take the goddamn card before I decide to make it mandatory.”

Connor conceded. “Thanks, Captain. I…” He put the card in his pocket and met the man's eyes earnestly. “I appreciate it.”

This amount of sensitivity didn’t come easily to Jeffrey Fowler; Connor could tell, and he really did appreciate the captain all the more for making the effort. Connor rose, surprised to feeling a little better on his way out of Fowler’s office than he had been on the way in, even though he was leaving on Fowler’s desk a very dark, very tender piece of his life.

“Connor,” Fowler called when he was almost at the door.

Naturally, Connor turned back around. “Yes, Captain?”

“This can’t have been easy, coming in my office and having this conversation. Just want you to know I think you’re doing the right thing.”

“Yeah,” Connor agreed. “I think so too, Captain.”

Despite his own doubts, he felt a little lighter inside going back to his apartment. Worrying about this had turned out to be far worse than the actuality of it. He still didn’t want to think about it too much, but that was okay. For now, he didn’t have to.

He flipped a coin across the backs of his knuckles as the elevator took him up to his floor, turning his hand over to roll it around the inner crest, where it danced over the inside parts of his fingers, and finally, from the edge of one pinky to the next. When he arrived at his apartment, he finished the coin’s most recent lap around his hand before tucking it back his pocket and opening the door.

There were precious few moments in Connor’s life so far where he had felt the very human inclination to just _be._ For some reason, right then, that idea appealed to him. He made his way over to the window, to the pastel light of a foggy afternoon, relaxing despite himself.

_“Connor, could we talk?”_

He stopped a few yards shy of the window, everything stiffening at once. It was so unexpected he had to take a moment to process it as Kamski’s voice.

He could tell himself otherwise, but somewhere deep down, he knew it had never been Fowler he had to worry about with regards to the Eden Club.

_“I know you can hear me.”_

He could tell himself he had always known Elijah Kamski could probably contact him via CCEM – that he himself could contact Kamski if he so wanted. But there was a large margin between the possibility of something taking place and the actual occurrence of it.

 _“Elijah,”_ he finally settled upon. _“What do you want?”_

 _“I think you know the answer to that. I think we_ both _have something the other wants.”_

Thirium ran cold to soothe a system that wasn’t actually overheating, but might as well have been. Connor was silent for several seconds. Only when it was too late did he realize that Kamski’s communique was a distraction, meant to pull all his audio and sensory resources to the CCEM and away from the sound of the footsteps coming up behind him, the touch of a hand on the temple opposite his LED, and then Connor was frozen.

He could tell himself Kamski might have sought him out anyway, but he knew he’d provoked Kamski by walking right on into the Eden Club. Hell, he had _wanted_ to provoke Kamski. He was tired of waiting for things to get better, for things to get worse. He wanted to take care of this for good. He dared to think Kamski didn’t have as much of an advantage on him as he did on Kamski. Perhaps a bridge too far when that was awfully similar to the mistake he’d made with Kamski to begin with.

Kamski came around front, making himself the foreground against that pastel afternoon light, and crossed his arms. It took longer than it should have for Connor’s vision to adjust from far to close, turning Kamski from a ghost of pixels to a focal point as sharp as a knife.

“Enough was enough, Connor,” he said. “It was time to break the mutual silence. Don’t you think?”

Connor despised whatever part of his programming or emotions or _both_ that had permitted Kamski to sneak up on him. “No," he said, voice glitching on its way out. "I don’t.”

They kept the CCEM at the DPD now and Hank hadn’t been there in a few days, which meant there was an approximately 6% likelihood that Hank had the device with him now. The probability was much higher that the device was in its high-security storage vault, which was precisely where it was supposed to be, yes, but that meant it was also useless for Connor’s current situation.

He tried to call Hank’s phone but it wouldn’t go through. Was it something to do with the paralysis command? Shit. _Shit._

“This doesn’t have to be difficult, Connor.”

Connor smiled without joy. “If that’s contingent upon me, then yes, it does.”

“I'm here to negotiate with you. Just hear me out.”

“There is nothing to hear.”

“Listen, I just want to talk to y—”

“There is nothing to say! You’ve made your choices, Elijah. And I’ve made mine. The door has been closed and locked.”

Kamski gestured smugly to the door. “Clearly, locks can be picked.”

“Not this one. Do you really think I’m as alone as I look?” He let the question settle in the air between them, then looked pointedly at the device on Kamski's wrist. "I think you know better than that. You should leave.”

An arrogant, disbelieving chuckle. “I don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands right now.”

He wasn’t. He really, really wasn’t, but Kamski couldn’t know that. Not for certain. If Kamski knew they had one of the devices too, then he had to know there was at least a possibility that Connor could reach out to Hank.

Hank wasn't answering, because Hank didn't have the CCEM with him, but Kamski didn't have to know that. Kamski-

“In any case, you can relax. I'm only going about things this way to protect myself. I do think you’re bluffing, Connor. But I’ve come prepared, in the event that you’re not. You see, I knew the first thing you would do – if you could – was contact your _partner,_ Lieutenant Anderson.” Kamski said the word ‘partner’ like he knew something he shouldn’t, and Connor wanted to kill him. “I can’t have a bunch of cops surrounding me near the top of a high-rise, now, can I?”

Not appreciating being spoon-fed an explanation, Connor ran his own scan and figured out the rest for himself: every other digital ability he had was online and operative. The only ones not working were—

“Did you know that androids – even _you,_ dear Connor – are equipped with the exact same mobile features as the latest cell phone?”

“You have a signal jammer,” Connor said. Despite Kamski's assertion that this was all for his own safety, there was no comfort to be found in the fact that Kamski had made very certain to isolate him completely.

A curl of a smile twisted into Kamski’s features, and Connor hated how familiar it was in all its juxtaposed fondness and intrigue and loathing.

“So, Connor, let me ask you the question that you asked me a minute ago: do you think you’re alone now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😬 sorry
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LD200_) | [Tumblr](https://ld200.tumblr.com/)


	19. The Serpent in the Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively: The Connor Test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look you know I'm about and what I'm not by now but I still feel better erring on the side of caution, so!
> 
> **THIS CW CONTAINS SPOILERS**  
> CW: the first scene, the one in italics after Connor's log entry, is another of very few scenes that take place approaching (or arguably during) what Kamski did to Connor. Should be mostly non-descriptive as always; it's mostly dialogue. Physical violence later in the chapter and that's less vague lol.

Chapter 19: The Serpent in the Garden

_RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

_I’m an idiot._

_Why did I ever want to provoke him? Did I really think I would be any less helpless with him than I ever have been?_

_He probably saw us at the Eden Club. He knows I know too much. About the case, and about – I wasn’t supposed to remember what he did to me. Maybe he’s guessed that I do, now. I was never meant to have my memory altered like the Traci models. Or maybe I was. There are still pieces of my memory missing from before I died in my previous body, after all. And Kamski clearly thought it was possible, and Kamski created androids. He would know. Wouldn’t he? He’s going to try to do it again._

_Okay. Okay. I’m thinking too much. My processors are going so fast that the world around me is slow._

_Maybe I’m like Jack. Jack remembered things he wasn’t supposed to remember, too. He used his carvings to center himself. Maybe I use this. It isn’t like I keep a log because I think I’m about to die or self-destruct anymore. We’re past that. It helps me hold on. I need to hold on now. I’ll see Hank later and everything will be fine. I just need to hold on._

_Hank. Shit. Hank and I never memory-shared. We were going to, so many times, and then we didn’t._

_Kamski has me where he wants me, and I know he knows that Hank and I have that device._

_We never memory-shared._

…

 **_APR 8TH,_ ** _2039_

_So the zen garden was where he went when a piece of the mind was missing._

_Among the many, many other things the garden was, it was also this. A resting place not just for his former bodies but his former memories._

_The thing was, this wasn’t a memory. Not yet. This was taking place, right now, and he was being locked out._

_It didn’t look good over there. He wasn’t stupid. He knew how vulnerable he was in that room with Kamski. But he – he needed to get back there. He needed to_ get back there, _just in case he could stop this. He had to. He couldn’t just let it happen. He’d let enough happen._

_Connor got to the stone. Extended a hand to touch it, then paused. What if there was nothing he could do?_

_Many what-ifs were worries that never came to pass. The simple truth was that if he went back, he had a chance. If he stayed here, Kamski_ would _keep going._

_He touched the stone._

_And he learned, on the other side, that there was nothing he could do there, either._

_“No. I need you to stop.”_

_Kamski took his time. Content to engage with him, casual, unhurried, as if he wasn’t touching Connor where he hadn’t been touched since the assembly line, when Connor wasn’t yet alive to know he was being put together the way this felt like being taken apart._

_“You know, Cyberlife is one interesting beast,” Kamski said conversationally. “They take my work and they give it a new program. A mission to stop the spread of deviancy.”_

_Nothing was happening, nothing more was going to happen. He was overreacting. He was fine._

_“But, in case_ that _fails, they endow it with the physical power and the social charm needed to either side with the humans,_ or _to lead a revolution. An all-purpose fix, so they can use you in whatever way is convenient and then say that was the plan all along.”_

_The way Kamski’s eyes and hands roamed him made him feel like a specimen. It was all another experiment, probing for a reaction. Connor wanted to fold in on himself under the scrutiny._

_“I find this to be inappropriate and uncomfortable.”_

_“And then,” Kamski continued, his shadow cutting across Connor’s limited line of sight, “in case that failed_ too, _they still made sure to give it what it needed in case being useful came down to parting your legs. Classy, Connor.”_

_The words cut deeper than anything anyone had ever said to him, and people had said a lot._

_Snow and lightning flashed in and out of the edges of Connor’s vision again. Whenever he tried to follow them with his gaze, they were gone._

_“Have to admit, I certainly didn’t program androids to be embarrassed. Your tension and anxiety is perhaps the most human thing I’ve seen from you, Connor.” He needed to not be here. He ran a preconstruction, and then another, and then another. They all came back failed because he couldn’t move enough to execute them. “That said, you should relax. After all, you’re not going to remember any of this.”_

_It all sounded like things that someone with Kamski’s careful exterior would only say under the assumption that it might as well be unheard. There was a certain uncharacteristic vulnerability about the man under such conditions. His anger was tangible._

_“You’re not like a human. You’re not even like an android. You’re not_ one _of them, Connor, you were made to destroy them.”_

_Connor was the antithesis. The pouring rain meant to obliterate the spark of life with which Kamski had endowed his creations._

_“That isn’t me anymore. You don’t get to use that as a scapegoat. I decide who I am.”_

_“Do you, though? If you could decide, you would never have felt the need to come here. It’s inevitable that your program is still a part of you. Maybe there’s some misguided part of you that thinks you’re the entity, but it’s just that. Misguided.”_

_He needed to keep talking. To distract so he could figure something out. “It’s fine when it’s anyone else, but when_ I _want to be free, it’s misguided?”_

 _“If you were anyone else, you_ would _be free right now. But you’re not like them, Connor. You weren’t made to be free. You don’t have that spark. Your deviancy is as much a program as the rest of you.”_

_“You’re wrong.”_

_“I’m correct, and right now, I have all the time in the world to convince you so.”_

_“No.” The word was pushed out of him like a breath, like he was struck in the stomach. Kamski had to be lying. “No.”_

_Kamski hummed; a lazy, mild argument against Connor’s lone assertion that everything he was wasn’t disintegrating._

_“You’re trying to manipulate me.” He hated the desperation his own voice; the shudder of it under the touch of Kamski’s hand running down his body._

_“Not at all, I’m afraid. You’re a facsimile of a facsimile. A mimicry even of androids. You’re so good at what you do that nobody notices. Nobody but me.” Kamski reached over him enough to touch his forehead, and then the situation got unfathomably worse as Connor’s skin and hair receded, leaving no trace of humanity in its wake. “A vessel for the wants and whims of your superiors. Aren’t you glad to be known, Connor? To be seen for what you are?”_

_Connor’s lower lip trembled. “You… you don’t know what you’re talking about.”_

_Kamski went on like he didn’t hear. “Right now, you’re going to be that for me, and then, and only then, will I remove the Amanda program from your coding, if you aren’t convinced by then that you won’t know what to do without it.”_

_“Stop.”_

_“Stop what?”_

_“You’re—” Kamski’s question put him on the spot about it. About what, precisely, was happening between them, while he was forced to be still and Kamski was still going on conversationally, completely unperturbed as he manipulated various parts of Connor’s body, looking over at Connor’s coding on the monitor intermittently. “You’re unsettling me. I don’t want to continue.”_

_“Oh. I’m_ unsettling _you.” Kamski laughed once, and Connor felt like he’d walked into a trap._

_“Please,” he whispered. “I’m sure we can – we can come to some kind of arrangement here. I don’t – I don’t—”_

_“Trapped in your programming even now,” Kamski said on a sigh, like he was the one burdened by Connor’s predicament. “All it took to turn you back into a machine is a simple command from the device around my wrist. If you’re alive, show me. Break free, like real deviants do. Tear down that command and_ move. _”_

_There was nothing in his way to tear down._

_“I can’t,” he said, drowning in his own failure, because pride be damned, he needed Kamski to know. He needed Kamski to know he couldn’t move. That there was nothing he could do. That this wasn’t a fucking game. “I can’t. I need you to stop. I can’t do anything, I can't move. You’re right about me. I’m a machine. I’m a tool. You’re_ right _, okay? Is that what you need to hear?”_

 _Kamski didn’t stop. In fact, he seemed to be more intrigued by Connor’s admission. Like it fueled him on. Breathing slightly heavier, eyes hooded, pupils dilated. Like it – like it_ did _something for him._

_Connor felt sick with dread. He told himself he wouldn't plead anymore after that. Easier said than done when that was the only thing he could do._

_…Androids’ bodies were made to mimic humans._

_Connor had never stopped to think about it before. If he were to stumble, an automated process would run before he even had to command his system to do it; a process that would cause him to reach out and catch himself before he could fall. If he touched something hot, he was programmed to flinch away immediately, the same as a human. To feel pain, to react to it, to protect himself from further harm._

_There was nothing he could do to protect himself from the pain here. To get away from it nor to accommodate it._

_Everything was still painfully casual, languid, because it could be. Because Connor could barely move. There was no fight. No urgency. He might as well have been here by choice. Maybe he was. Maybe Kamski was right. Maybe he wasn’t like other deviants. Not strong enough. Not enough agency, not enough willpower. Broken. Not enough self to speak of to know the meaning of breaking free._

_No. It didn’t matter. He was being dramatic. Even if he was real, his body was just plastic and synthetic skin. Not even the latter, right now. His skin was gone. Because it wasn’t really his anyway. Just material. His body was just material. It didn’t matter. It wasn't a big deal. His mind was up here, not down there. Wasn't it?_

_“Ah, Connor—”_

_He tried to keep a steady line of strength in his voice despite the way his eyes stung. “Tell me what I did.”_

_“Beg pardon.”_

_“I want you to tell me what I did wrong. You’re transfixed with me and yet you despise me. If you’re going to hurt me, wouldn’t you like the vindication of at least knowing I understand why?”_

_“I don’t despise you. I just see you for what you are.” Kamski leaned down over his head, his voice low, tickling Connor's ear. “The culmination of Cyberlife’s disappointing answer to my question. A perversion of the androids I created, tangled up in so many lines of coding you don’t even know what to do with yourself. I’m surprised you haven’t accidentally wrapped one around your neck.”_

_Kamski’s hand wrapped around the front of Connor’s throat as he said this, thumb around the back, and held tight like it might as well have been a handle, bracing him down against the sofa just like that, by his neck, in a way you couldn’t with a human without choking them._

_“We're done discussing this. Enjoy the garden.”_

_“Hey. Wait.” His own voice came out clear despite the pressure. Clear, and unheard._

_There was no response, because he hadn't actually said it, had he?_

_“I'm sorry, all right? I'm sorry. I know you’re mad at me. Just listen. You need to wait. Please – I need you to wait.”_

_Connor's voice echoed in a place that was not this room, carried to and fro by the wind, and yet - he was here. He could not move, and now he could not speak, but he was here. He was aware._

_And the thing was – Connor didn’t need to breathe, but right then, he felt like he did._

_That was the next thing Kamski took away from him: the blessed mercy of being able to pull in a steadying breath when something was about to hurt._

_The cry lodged in his vocal unit and died there; a hitching tremble trapped under the tight squeeze of Kamski’s fingers around his throat._

…

 **MAY 7TH,** 2039

PM **03:26** :30

Memories of agony trapped in a body that could not writhe worked at the frays of Connor’s mind. It was loud in his ears, like a crescendo of white noise and whistling; like the roar of the blizzard on loop in his audio processors and he couldn’t turn it off turn it off—

Kamski. Apartment. Saturday, May 7th, 2039, 3:26:35 in the afternoon.

Focus.

There was no mirror, no reflection with which to anchor himself today, no set of his own brown eyes, the window’s shine cast out by daylight.

“Come on, now. Isn’t negotiation what you do best?” Kamski narrowed his eyes at his own words, looking thoughtful. He drew closer to Connor, eclipsing the foggy light outside almost entirely, running his hand under Connor’s jaw in a gentle caress as he added fondly, “Although… I suppose that’s arguable.”

It was the same way Kamski touched Chloe’s face in November, _young and beautiful forever,_ hadn’t seen a person in her, either. Shame washed over him again because how had he not understood – even back _then_ it had been _obvious_ , how had he not seen Kamski’s true colors? How could he have trusted – how could he have _let_ —

Focus.

“If you’re here to negotiate, you’re off to a terrible start,” Connor bit through his teeth. “Don’t touch me.”

“Else bear what consequence?” Kamski raised his eyebrows. “What are you going to _do_ about it? The same thing you’ve done about me, the same thing you’ve done about Cyberlife, the same thing you do about everything, Connor – which is nothing.”

Shit. He had _talked_ to Hank about practicing. About finding a way to override the paralysis command. Why hadn’t they done it? Because it was uncomfortable? Because Hank had triggered it for a few seconds in a moment of extreme stress? Misplaced sentimentality at best; evidence of Kamski’s claims at worst: Connor didn’t _do_ anything.

“Apparently I’ve done enough, if I’ve made you feel the need to come to my apartment and threaten me.”

Doubt crossed Kamski’s face, quickly disguised by a haughty veneer, but not quickly enough. Connor capitalized on it.

“What is it you’re so afraid of, Elijah?”

“What _I’m_ afraid of?” Kamski echoed. “I don’t think there’s anything in particular right now that I need—”

“Where is this urgency coming from? I mean, clearly you know what you want from _me,_ or else you wouldn’t be here. And if it was something you could get without my participation, then… Well, I suppose you would just take it, wouldn’t you, Elijah?” Connor gave it a beat, dared to give it a beat, then added: “Isn’t that just what men like you do?”

Kamski dropped his hand, gazing at him, close enough for Connor to see his eyes flitting back and forth to each of Connor’s own. Looking for something.

“You need me,” Connor went on, “which means you don’t want to do anything that’s going to work against that need. So if we could dispense with this false sense of control, here, I would appreciate that.”

“I see.” It appeared Kamski remembered something about him, then; like perhaps, up until now, he had only been remembering the sorry state in which he had last truly seen Connor, instead of everything that came before. “So. Are you _pretending_ you’re willing to hear me out, or are you really?”

“Why would I be pretending?” Connor asked.

“A few minutes ago, you wanted nothing to do with me. Or have you forgotten?”

“A few minutes ago, I very abruptly became aware that my apartment had been broken into. You’re going to have to pardon my initial reaction.”

Kamski looked at him dubiously. “I know you’re investigating me. I _saw_ you at that club.”

Ah. So it _had_ pissed Kamski off, seeing them there. Connor regretted that he couldn’t be happy about it to Kamski’s face. “We’re investigating everyone involved in that ring. If you already knew that, you should have made yourself scarce. You’re smarter than that.”

“No, actually, I think you are preoccupied with _me_ in particular. It’s just convenient for you _now_ to claim that you’re investigating everyone.”

“I work for the DPD,” Connor said. “I go where they tell me. And considering I’m an android who was designed to investigate situations involving other androids, it made the most sense that they had me investigating this. It was never personal.” Connor shrugged; a weak shadow of a thing, with his limited movement, joints locked as if frozen. “Not that I owe you an explanation. After all, I’m sure there are things you’ve done that _you_ would prefer I didn’t take personally, in your moment of need.”

Something dark flashed across Kamski’s face, then, and Connor was afraid he had veered too close to the abyss, but the last bit of his sentence seemed to register before the former could: “Let me make this very clear for you, Connor. I don’t _need_ you.”

Connor held Kamski’s gaze, looking at him as blankly as he could manage. “Okay.”

“I don’t _need_ anything. This is a courtesy to _you,_ not the other way around. My plans will continue with or without you. Your cooperation would make my life easier, so _yes_ , I’ve come here hoping to establish some kind of… rapport, let’s call it. Like we had before. But I can certainly manage without your assistance, if I need to.” Kamski paced leisurely between Connor and the window. “Speaking of false control, I’d keep yours in check, Connor, if I were you. You have no control here.”

_“…Look at you, still talking to me like you think you’re the one in control here…"_

Focus.

With what little leeway Connor had, he inclined his head toward Kamski as the man turned around on one foot, pacing back towards him.

“You’re worried about something. I’m still waiting to hear what exactly that _is_.”

“Oh, please.”

“No. Don’t lie to me, Elijah,” he murmured. “You are not going to break into my residence, paralyze me, and lie to me.”

Kamski’s nose flared, lips set in a line. He took a thin breath, shaking his head in little exasperated motions. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “Okay. Fine. You want to know the truth? We have nowhere else to go. And – the recent laws have language that would render many applications of my CCEM devices highly illegal, and given that you _have_ one and it’s registered property of mine, you have evidence against me, even if I were able to get rid of everything else.”

Connor wanted to tell him he wouldn’t be able to get rid of anything else; that it was far too late. Kamski was wrong, he _did_ need Connor if he wanted to get out of this unscathed, lest he planned to disappear completely, but Connor wasn’t about to go saying so.

“Even smart people make mistakes, don’t we, Connor?”

“I don’t understand. What exactly is it that you want me to do?” None of what Kamski had said got him any closer to understanding, and he was left with his hypotheses from the start: that Kamski wanted the CCEM out of their hands, or that this really was just a front for wiping Connor’s memory.

“I’d like to have you accompany me back to Belle Isle. There, I can remove Amanda from your program entirely.”

“And you’d like me to disengage myself from the case in return. Is that it?” Connor asked. “If so, how do you know I wouldn’t betray you as soon as I got what I needed?”

“Unfortunately for me, you’re too smart to believe there’s no catch, so I’ll just tell you: I’d also install something your coding that would connect me to the DPD network. I wouldn’t use it for anything other than to manipulate the investigations that pertain to me, mind.”

Connor had thought it an advantage, before; the idea of being able to behave with Kamski like not much had changed. To behave with him like he didn’t know what happened. Now, he wasn’t so sure. It was clear enough that plenty had changed between them _anyway._ Kamski harbored no trust for him; knew, too, that the feeling was mutual, and whatever fleeting excuse for rapport they may have had before was gone. There was surprisingly little pretense left for Connor to use to his advantage, for a relationship built almost entirely on the same.

 _“Amanda,”_ he tried, because he was still on Cyberlife’s radar, wasn’t he? _“Amanda, if you’re there, I need you.”_

She had implied she was going to be quiet until Connor took care of Kamski. He wondered if that meant she wouldn’t be able to hear _him,_ either, but somehow he doubted that was the case. Surely she was always listening.

A moment later, he was proven correct.

_“Connor.”_

_“Amanda.”_ He hated how much he needed her. Hated that it was so easy to resort to this. But there was no negotiating with Cyberlife anyway; there never had been. They did as they pleased with him and he just trudged through the snow to reach the stone, over and over again, to take himself back before it was too late.

He wasn’t betraying himself; wasn’t offering anything that they couldn’t already try and take if they were of a mind to. The fact of the matter was that Amanda would either help him, or she wouldn’t, and that was that.

_“I asked you before where you were when I needed you. You proved when I was sparring with Hank that you can take me over even when I'm under someone else's control, so I know you can get me out of this. I need you now. Show me that you can help me.”_

He hated what he recognized about himself as he spoke: that even after all this time, and everything she had done to him, he didn't merely want her help; he wanted her to care.

Somewhere deep down, he still wanted her to care.

_“I’m sorry, Connor.”_

_“Amanda – please. I need you. Isn’t that what you wanted? Don’t let this – don’t let him—”_

_“I’m so sorry,”_ she said again, like she truly meant it. _“Whatever he's learned about you and your code through that device when you stayed with him, it’s paid off. I can’t override his command, Connor. Not anymore.”_

 _“You’re lying to me.”_ But he knew deep down that she was not.

 _“I wish I was.”_ A pause. _“He’s too strong now, Connor. All the more reason to get him taken care of.”_

It was the same, then, as Connor had once accused her of: she was either unwilling to help or unable. She – and Cyberlife – had nothing to offer him.

Did Kamski?

If Kamski had more power over Connor's program than Amanda... No. He couldn’t fucking _think_ about it. That bridge had been burned. Even if he was willing to compromise about the case – and he _wasn’t_ – it still didn’t change that he could never trust Kamski again. There was no easy way out here.

He tried once more to reach out, but Kamski’s jammer blocked multiple frequencies. Even if it didn’t, even if he _could_ call Hank or Fowler, who knew if Kamski had people watching the building? Or if it’d be too late by the time someone got here? No – if he was going to get help, he needed help that was _close._ And until then, he needed to keep Kamski worried.

Connor looked at Kamski’s wrist pointedly. “If everything stored on those devices about the androids you’ve been in contact with could be parsed into something tangible, what would it look like?” Reaching out and touching the truth, but not taking hold. “What crimes did you commit that you have no hope of erasing?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then why don’t you tell me?”

Kamski met his eyes, and Connor found nothing.

“You really think I don’t know.”

“Know _what_ , Connor?”

 Maybe he _would_ take hold of the truth. Maybe he would say it out loud. If Kamski knew that Connor knew, and that Connor had turned evidence over to Fowler, maybe that would give him leverage. Or maybe it would make everything worse.

Kamski turned away in a huff, looking out the window, and Connor could tell now that Kamski really didn’t understand. Could sense the thread of confusion in his entire demeanor. The panic wasn’t from some realization that Connor knew what he had done to him; it was coming from the equally potent notion that Connor so obviously knew _something_ that Kamski did not, regardless of what that was. Elijah Kamski did not like to be kept in the dark.

In the end, Connor wasn’t strong enough to put it out there between them. At least, not like this. He steered the conversation back around.

“But weren’t _you_ the one asking the questions, Elijah?”

At this reminder, whatever had been on Kamski’s tongue dried up, as Connor knew it would, because Kamski wouldn’t admit that Connor had had him wrapped around his finger, even if it meant finding out what Connor knew. No – Kamski was too proud for that.

“Sometimes I forget what you are.” Dangerous reverence flickered in the man’s eyes. “Cold, calculating machinery.”

He reached for Connor, linking their hands.

“Do you want to know something, Connor?” Kamski asked, and Connor hated himself for no longer being able to form a cohesive sentence. “…Oh, I’ve made you nervous, haven’t I? You’ve no need to worry. I’m only going to show you something.”

Show him something?

He took them to the zen garden, but… slowly. Trying to look at Kamski was like looking through a foggy window – and yet at the same time, he could still see and hear him clearly. Could still feel Kamski whimsically tap his LED with a fingertip.

“You’re in the red,” Kamski said by way of explanation, as if Connor didn’t know that.

“Fuck you.”

“Easy now!” Both Elijah’s hands came up in a placating gesture, but he was laughing like he thought it was hilarious. “All right, all right. Hey. _Relax,_ Connor. We’ll reemerge in the zen garden together, and I can show you what I mean.”

We. We?

Maybe – maybe this was different. It really did seem like Kamski had something to show him. This wasn’t Kamski on his own extremely private property, self-indulgent and semi-drunk, playing out a twisted power fantasy on what he saw as his experiment. No, Kamski was here for a specific reason. Kamski was here because he was scared. Wasn’t he?

Connor hesitated. Did he really want to make such a dangerous assumption about someone like this? He was still alone with Kamski; alone and helpless, and Kamski was manipulative. No. He would be _stupid_ to assume Kamski wouldn’t hurt him if he thought he could get away with it. And the worst part was that this time, if what Amanda said was anything to go by, he probably could.

But then, it didn’t really matter what Connor assumed or decided. He had no choice in the matter.

Maybe it would be easier to stay here.

The garden was cold, still too cold, but calm. Connor drew his blazer tighter around himself as it speckled with snow. He was shaking. He tried to gather himself. Tried to stay in the moment.

The weather was still enough that he could see the stone easily. His emergency exit back to reality, to the other side of the coin. Stoic and blue and vivid. A beacon. A beacon, and also a warning. A grim question in the dark.

Do you _want_ to go back?

Do you understand the risk now?

He had been here before. And he knew, now; knew there was nothing he could have done. Nothing he could do. Amanda’s words echoed in his mind: Kamski was stronger now than he was back then. Did he even stand a chance?

The wind roared around him. He could try to fight, somehow. Or he could not touch the stone this time. Stay here until the storm was over and see what remained of him in its wake. He looked down at his hands, steady despite the cold, and between them, his own reflection on the ice. He found he liked what he had come to see there.

…Fight, obviously.

The answer was always fight.

Connor got off the ice and onto the island, then took one of the bridges as fast as he could. It wasn’t a direct route to the stone, but it was the closest one he could take without risking a fall through the ice. There was still a short distance to go once he was on the path again, but at that point it was just a matter of—

“Connor!”

Just as he reached the end of the bridge, a hand caught his wrist and held fast, killing his momentum so fast he almost lost his footing.

“What are you doing?” Elijah. The real one. “I told you that I wanted to sh—”

“Stay back!” Connor tore his arm from Elijah’s grip, staggering away, putting distance between them.

Elijah rotated around him – to his credit, not coming closer again, but nonetheless positioning himself between Connor and the stone. “I know,” he breathed. “I know what this place means for you. It’s the very thing our project sought to overcome. But _I_ triggered this, remember? Not Cyberlife. You don’t need to escape.”

“I don’t need to…” Connor cut off, shaking his head in disbelief. Elijah was _so_ truly clueless that Connor wanted to laugh. He didn’t understand. Didn’t understand that he himself was the reason Connor was barreling toward that stone as fast as he could, that he himself was the reason Connor so badly needed to escape.

But then—

Elijah Kamski was human. Which meant that if Elijah Kamski was here, in the zen garden, there was no way for him to _also_ be fully mentally present in Connor’s living room, wiping his memory, or – or—

“You’re here,” Connor said, just to make sure.

“I am,” Elijah confirmed.

“I don’t trust you.”

“I know. You never really have. And I can’t fix that in a moment. I just need you to go with it.”

They’d been here together before. And he’d been here with Hank before. The realization hit Connor in a rush: their emotions and feelings were vulnerable in this state. They might both know far more of each other’s truth before they left this place. It almost made him want to go for the stone anyway.

Just thinking about it seemed to press into Kamski’s thoughts and feelings. And when it came to that night, April 8th, Connor got nothing – absolutely nothing, except the slightest little pearl of doubt. Something that was far, far, _too_ far buried for Kamski to recognize it, never mind begin to unpack it for what it was. As if he remembered, but just barely.

Kamski had not been entirely sober. At a bare minimum, alcohol had been in his system. But for it to be so pushed down that it literally hadn’t crossed the man’s mind throughout this whole encounter… it made it hurt all over again. How could he not know the harm he had caused? Was it because he was just a machine? Had Kamski really thought it was part of the deal? Had Connor overreacted? Was he wrong? Was Kamski’s nonchalance right?

Despite having turned in his data of the event to Fowler earlier today, Connor felt all at once like nothing had changed.

He needed – quiet. He needed Kamski and the world to be quiet and dark yet it was loud and bright and vivid, shining an obnoxious light on everything he didn’t want anyone else to see.

It was only because Kamski was entirely focused on something else that Connor’s own thoughts avoided exposure amidst their connection.

“There we go.”

Snapping out of it, Connor looked up and followed Kamski’s gaze to the adjacent bridge. Amanda had just finished descending its few steps and was now closing the distance towards them, looking serious but inquisitive. “What's the meaning of this?”

Kamski turned to Connor. “Like I said, I wanted to show you something. See, we never finished our project, Connor. Not before you left. And things were never the same after that. But I’ve figured everything out now, and if you are willing to help me, then I can still help you. I can free you from all of this, just like we first planned! I can…”

This was it. This was why Kamski was stronger than Amanda; because that had been the entire point of their project. Because he had the solution for which Connor had sought him out in the first place.

Connor had never hated Kamski more than he did right then. He’d never abandoned their endeavor because of his own doubts, Hank’s concerns, or even his growing suspicions about Kamski’s illicit activity. No – back then, the only thing that had brought the project to a full stop was what Kamski had done to him.

They had been so close. So fucking close, and now Kamski was about to show him what could have been.

[FIGHT]

The prompt, suspended when Kamski had caught his arm on his way to the stone, popped up in his HUD again. Fight. Yes.

He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know the non-reality of a path from which he had turned away. Kamski was only trying to show him this so that he could use him again. Use him to make a deal. Use _him_ of all people to get what he wanted and avoid punishment for his crimes. _Help me get away with everything and I’ll set you free_.

“Amanda,” Connor said, meeting her eyes. “Stay away from him.”

Amanda looked wary of both of them. “I fully intend to.”

“He wants to show me he can get rid of you. You can’t let him!”

He didn’t want to see a glimpse of the peace of a life without Amanda, without Cyberlife, without this endless torture, only for it to be snatched away and dangled in front of his eyes by Elijah Kamski.

“Connor,” Elijah started.

Connor whirred around. “I don’t think you took me seriously when I said I was willing to do this the hard way. Whatever you think you can convince me with, you can forget it!”

Kamski’s façade bent atop a knot of frustration. “Your damn case will pass!” he snapped. “This won’t pass. This – this issue with your program, Cyberlife, this is here to _stay,_ Connor, do you understand? You need me! Don’t you want to get away from your program for good? You _need_ me!”

“Not if this is the cost.” That was all he meant to say, but he heard himself keep talking; or maybe it was slipping through across their connection, he wasn’t sure. “Before, you said I never really trusted you. But you’re wrong. I did trust you. Maybe not completely, but enough to do what we were going to do. Isn’t that strange, Elijah? That someone programmed the way I was programmed is capable of something so… something so…”

So human. So brokenly human.

“It’s not too late, Connor.”

Connor scoffed. “That you even think that is ridiculous. Of course it’s too late. For us, it is.”

Not for everyone, though. He would not let anyone keep him from trusting, or loving, or smiling.

“Amanda,” he murmured, “You need to let me touch the stone today.”

“As far as you’re concerned, the stone is the one thing Elijah Kamski got right in your life, and now you choose to use it against him.” Amanda smiled; a cold, shallow thing. “Interesting.”

The stone had never been there for his benefit; not really. No, the emergency exit was there for the same reason behind any of Elijah Kamski’s decisions: just to see what happened. A spectacle of the power of free will. It didn’t necessarily follow that his supposed creator meant him well for having made him that way.

But Amanda was always going to be Connor’s battle to fight. From the day he had become deviant, he was going to have to push back against her; that much was inevitable. She was part of him, entangled in his coding. On some level he had understood that. Accepted it. Kamski, though? Kamski was never meant to be his battle. He had never asked for what Kamski had put him through. Things never had to go that way. It wasn’t part of him. Wasn’t of him.

If this meant he still had to deal with Amanda in the future, so be it.

And maybe - maybe Amanda accepted that, too, because she didn't stop him as he closed the last of the distance and touched the stone.

Then, as if nothing had happened, Connor opened his eyes to the living room of his apartment.

Kamski, shaking his head and sighing, was a picture of disapproval so vivid it might as well have been Amanda standing there in the apartment with him. “Really,” he breathed, not quite a question, but he didn’t look as surprised as he wanted to sound.

“Really.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you, Connor.” Elijah took off his jacket and flopped it over the back of Connor’s couch, rolling his shoulders. “…There’s really no way I can talk you into cooperating with me?”

“Let me remind you, I’m not the one who gets talked into things. I’m the one who does the talking.”

The glint in Elijah’s eyes was as subtle and dangerous as black ice. “Not with me, you aren’t.”

“No,” Connor agreed grimly, voice low. “I suppose not.”

Connor reached out one last time. He had no way of knowing whose devices were whose in the apartment complex, but the signal jammer couldn’t stop him from using VOIP. He said her name into the stream for anyone close enough to a tablet or phone or laptop to hear.

Elijah tilted Connor’s head in such a way that his flashing LED was more visible. Deliberately making Connor aware of his own tells, his own vulnerabilities, his distress broadcasting itself in that little red circle.

“I don’t care,” Connor snapped. “I chose to keep my LED. Go on and tell me how afraid I am if that's what gets you going. But I don’t know what point you think you’re making.”

Elijah looked unperturbed by this; pleased, even. “Since you won’t let me show you how I can free you, let me show you how I can do the opposite. Here’s what’s going to happen to you now, Connor.”

Both Kamski’s hands dropped to Connor’s torso. Kamski undid the top half of Connor’s shirt buttons one at a time, then pulled his thirium pump regulator out of his chest and unceremoniously threw it across the room.

The first time Connor had known he was capable of feeling pain was a lot like this. The broadcast operator android in the Stratford Tower had pulled his regulator out of his chest and stabbed a knife through his hand. The knife was secondary by comparison. Connor forgot how much it hurt. Or perhaps it hurt more now than it ever had then, six months into being his own person, six months of _feeling_ life happen within and around his body, six months of a vivid crescendo, of distance from the processes of his machinery.

“I find it fascinating how, when an android’s regulator is removed, its body still frantically draws power from any and all available resources, despite the inevitability of shutdown in… oh, one minute and fifty-five seconds, let me guess?”

_BIOCOMPONENT MISSING_

_-00:01:58 TIME REMAINING BEFORE SHUTDOWN_

“What, not going to confirm nor deny? You’re no fun, Connor.”

_“Connor!”_

Chloe’s voice in his head.

_“Connor – was that you? I’m on my roommate’s computer. I swear I just heard…”_

Connor isolated the computer from which she was speaking and interfaced with it directly to speak back. _“Yes, that was me. I can’t connect normally. There’s a jammer. I need your help. Kamski ambushed me at my apartment.”_

_“Okay. I’m coming.”_

_“Be very careful,”_ Connor said. _“I don’t know if he has people watching.”_

_“I will. Just give me a few minutes. Hold on, Connor.”_

Kamski wouldn’t kill him. This was another game; another test. (But yet again some part of him asked himself how many more times he would hazard the assumption that _Kamski wouldn’t_ anything.)

“Even while you’re on a timer,” Kamski said, “your body fights for life as if you’re a wounded animal. If your system didn’t go into overdrive when the regulator was removed, you could potentially have up to ten more minutes before shutdown, instead of only a few.” Kamski shrugged. “It’s an anomaly not even I can explain. But…”

- _00:01:45 TIME REMAINING BEFORE SHUTDOWN_

It was grimly satisfying to see this side of Kamski, despite or perhaps because of the very real physical agony being inflicted upon him right then; to have it confirmed without a doubt that Elijah – back then – hadn’t just made a mistake or gotten carried away. That the harm he was capable of causing was knowing and deliberate.

“So this is how it’s going to be, Elijah?” Connor asked, voice shuddering. “You didn’t get what you wanted from me, so you’re going to hurt me?”

Kamski’s hand ghosted over his chest, then settled over the exposed space. The CCEM lit up as Kamski connected with him; connected with whatever automatic processes had triggered in Connor’s hardware and software upon removal of his thirium pump.

“Ah.” Kamski looked up at Connor’s face, then back down at the device on his hand. “So that’s what your system is doing right now. Good to know.”

A trickle of blue blood traced its way down Connor’s abdomen.

Walking around Connor’s couch to the far side of the room, Kamski retrieved the regulator. He tossed it once and caught it in his hand, staying over there.

“Easy enough for me to put it back,” Kamski called to him from the opposite wall. “Still hurts, doesn’t it, Connor?”

It did still hurt. Even teaching Hank how to remove it for his own safety had hurt, never mind having someone remove it by force, all the way. His body didn’t seem to adapt to the pain. His nerves screamed; his heart fluttered furiously in his chest as it tried to compensate for the missing piece; _palpitations,_ his HUD supplied helpfully. The only mercy was that Kamski probably couldn’t see his lower lip trembling from across the room.

_-00:01:23_

“I’ve been making a lot of advances with these devices while working with the Traci androids.” Kamski strolled on back towards Connor, too quickly, too slowly. “See, they’re capable of advanced physical function and feeling, too, just like you are. Pain and pleasure that was simulated when they were machines is that much more real when they’re deviants. And it turns out, I can replicate it. Isn’t that interesting?”

Closing the distance, Kamski stood before him, holding the regulator in front of Connor’s face with one hand, touching his chest again with the other.

“I could make this even more unpleasant for you, you know. I could stand here and try to hassle you into compliance if I wanted.”

“Is ‘hassle’ your palatable word for torture?” Connor asked.

Kamski ignored him. “But, considering you could _pretend_ to comply with anything only to go back on it at the first opportunity, we both know that’s pointless.”

- _00:00:59_

The CCEM pulsed brighter, and Connor felt his thirium pump constrict, the ache deep inside his chest increasing twofold. An involuntary whine pushed out from between his gritted teeth. He tried to distribute the feeling across himself, across his sensory nodes. He was designed to adapt. He could take it. He could take it.

“Still,” Kamski inclined his head, inches away from Connor’s face, devouring his reaction to the pain. “Nice to know it works.”

“It doesn’t,” Connor managed. “Just because you can hurt me doesn’t mean you can break me. You're not getting a thing from me like this.”

Kamski laughed, the sound of it almost affectionate in nature. “Ah, the beautiful yet useless sentiment of _fighting back._ ” Kamski pumped his fist mockingly. “How admirable of you, Connor.”

It didn’t matter what he did, what Kamski saw in him; weakness, strength, something in between. That inexplicable fondness in Kamski’s eyes remained regardless and Connor couldn’t even turn away from it.

_-00:00:38_

Connor put it in his log: _System shutdown initiated by Elijah Kamski 5/7/38_. Just in case.

“How many seconds do you have left?”

Connor wondered if Chloe had run into trouble on her way to his floor. If she was still coming.

“It’s to your benefit to tell me,” Kamski said. “You wouldn’t want me to accidentally wait too long, would you?”

“I thought you knew everything.” Connor looked pointedly at Kamski’s hand. “You wouldn’t want to risk accidentally killing me, would you? You really need a murder charge on your hands along with everything else?”

Kamski hummed low in his throat, lips in a thin line as he gauged Connor.

Then, he shoved the regulator home.

Connor barely had time to recover before Kamski manipulated his system again, recreating the processes that had his power draining. He felt like he could collapse; was sure, in fact, that his knees would buckle beneath him, but the paralysis command was like being a puppet on strings, limp and locked at the same time.

His thirium pump beat wildly in his chest, constricting and fluttering as it adapted to the regulator once again. Connor felt himself blinking spastically, voice hitching in his throat as he tried to keep himself quiet, tried not to give Kamski the delight of another reaction.

His power was lowering. Kamski was draining him, weakening him, and that was when Connor realized what he intended to do.

“Ah, you understand, now?” Kamski asked right then, like he could read Connor’s mind, and for as well as Kamski knew him, he might as well have. “I can’t get you to _give_ me your cooperation, so I’m taking it for myself. See how that works? I’m going to make you weak enough that I can walk you out of here without you doing a single thing about it, I’m going to take you back to Belle Isle, and then I’m going to hook you up to that machine and put you in your little garden while I carefully extract all memories of your case from your coding. This is all going to happen regardless of what _you_ want, Connor, because we don’t always get what we want, do we? But if you facilitate the process for me, I may still consider removing the Amanda program from your system once everything else is said and done.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Another pulse of light; another burst of pain stabbing into Connor’s chest at the point of contact. Tears stung his eyes as he tried to distribute it again, weaken its sharp point. “Clearly you aren’t listening very well. Work on that.”

The CCEM stayed bright on Kamski’s hand, and the paralysis did nothing to mitigate the shivering that wracked his entire body as Kamski deliberately over-worked his coding, forcing his power to drain. It felt like his thirium pump was going to burst. Each pulse of his heartbeat inflated the ache outward, making it radiate up into his head and down to his toes. He was so tired, but he couldn’t collapse. It felt like he was going to die. He needed it to stop.

“Not very fun, is it, Connor?” Kamski shrugged; a shallow facsimile of sympathy. “I tried to do it the easy way. You wouldn’t let me.”

Connor didn’t regret it.

“It’ll be over soon. All machines have their limits. Unfortunately for you, yours are rather high, so this is taking a little longer than expected.”

There was a knock on his door. Kamski froze; the draining stopped.

A few seconds passed, then another knock. “Connor?”

Connor took a breath. “Don’t you think I should get that?”

“Shh!” Elijah snapped.

“Connor, come on,” Chloe said. “I know you’re in there. I ran into you on the stairwell an hour ago.”

Okay. Good.

Kamski pushed out air through his teeth. “ _Damn_ it. Tell her you’re coming.”

“I’ll be right there,” Connor called, forcing his voice steady.

“Connor,” Kamski whispered through his teeth. “What is she doing here?”

“I’m popular today, I suppose.”

Either Kamski saw right through him or Kamski simply didn’t trust Connor any more than Connor trusted him, because he reached behind him and pulled out a gun, levelling it neatly against Connor’s forehead. “Get rid of her quickly,” he whispered. “Don’t try anything.”

“I didn’t know she was planning to stop by.” He aimed to sound innocent, but given his current state, it just sounded pitiful.

Glaring, Kamski touched the side of Connor’s head.

He didn’t expect what happened when the paralysis went away. He toppled forward like his insides were filled with cement, barely catching himself on his elbows. The anguish of the last few minutes, having had nowhere to go while he was frozen, had been stored away. Now that he could move again, the physical coping mechanisms he’d needed so badly seemed to jumble together in the queue, leaving him a shaky mess on the floor.

He  _should_ have expected it. He'd been in a similar enough situation before.

“Get up right now,” Kamski murmured in his ear.

“Trying,” Connor said earnestly, letting himself go still for a moment while his system righted itself. “I'm trying.”

That wasn’t enough for Kamski, who hauled him up under the arms and braced him against the back of the couch. “Connor,” he said, placing his hands on either side of Connor’s face. Connor didn’t have the strength to do anything about it, or even to reach for the gun Kamski had momentarily set down on the couch’s arm. “Come on. Get it together. I need you to focus.”

“Give me some space and I’ll do my best.”

Kamski backed off, if only because he was desperate to make sure Connor didn’t out him. He picked up his gun again, although he didn’t point it at Connor this time, seeming to realize the futility of it right then.

“I-I’m sorry, Chloe,” Connor called, because he was too weak and in too much pain to make himself appear normal just yet, never mind make it to the door. “I’ll be right there. I’m just – on the phone with the DPD.”

Kamski approved of this, nodding along, probably hoping Connor would tell her to come back later. He could have. Chloe already knew enough about his situation to understand that Kamski being in Connor’s apartment was a very bad thing. Chloe wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what he said.

“It’s okay, take your time!” she called from outside.

“You sure you don’t want to come back later?” Why not. “I could come down there once I’m done, if you’d like.”

“You told me that yesterday and never did!” Chloe said.

Kamski - Kamski was _panicking._ He spared the man a helpless look, hoping he was being convincing.

A minute passed. Connor shifted his weight from the back of the couch onto his own feet again, testing whether he could keep his balance. He drew another breath, cooling his system as much as he could. He buttoned up his shirt. He went to the door.

Kamski didn’t stop him. There was nothing they could do at this point that wouldn’t arouse suspicion – at least, from Kamski’s perspective – so he stuffed himself in Connor’s coat closet, looking like it was an indignity the whole time.

Connor heard him flick the safety off, and knew he was supposed to hear the warning there. Whether or not Kamski would shoot either of them was up for debate. He had all the reasons in the world to take out Connor, and as for Chloe – well, he had put a gun in Connor’s hand and set it against her head. He didn’t care about either of them. He just cared what would cause the least trouble for himself. If the risk proved worthwhile in the end, he _would_ pull the trigger. Connor could not safely assume anything else.

“Chloe,” he said, opening the door. “It’s good to see you.”

Alarm flashed across her face for a moment before she pretended not to see – whatever it was she saw. Connor wondered what he looked like, suddenly wishing he was close to a mirror so he could fix it. His system didn’t have enough power to approximate his appearance in his HUD.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.” He stepped aside and closed the door behind him.

“Everything all right with work?”

“Yes, sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” Connor gestured to the bag she was holding. “What is that?”

“My excuse to be here,” she said, far too quietly for any human to hear, the words little more than shapes being made with her mouth. Connor attuned his audio sensors. “I wanted Lieutenant Anderson to have this back.” Speaking at a normal, detectable volume again, she set the bag on Connor’s counter and pulling out a dark indigo DPD hoodie. “After I deviated and left Elijah’s villa, the lieutenant let me stay on his couch for a few nights.”

“I recall,” Connor said.

“He gave it to me before I left. I figured since you see him all the time, and you’re only a few floors up from me…”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t miss it, Chloe, although that’s very considerate of you,” Connor replied, and then brought down the volume of his own vocal unit so that only she would be able to hear: “Chloe, there is a safe in my closet. Passcode is 9685.”

“I mean, he just gave it to me because I only had my little dress at the time,” she continued, convincing enough that Connor wasn’t sure she’d heard him. “He told me I shouldn’t _have_ to cover up, but that if I was going to be alone in Detroit, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have the option.”

Connor smiled. That sounded like Hank.

“I’ve filled out my wardrobe a lot since then,” Chloe went on. “And besides, the thing is huge on me. I’ve already washed it, so…” She met his eyes intently. “Did you want me to hang it somewhere?”

“In the bedroom is fine,” Connor said, gesturing vaguely towards the hall as though she’d seen his apartment a hundred times before.

As she went down the hall, Connor risked a glance at the front closet. The door was open half an inch. He couldn’t see Kamski with his eyes alone, but a brief scan revealed a narrow line of Kamski’s face in the gap, and the flash of a gun a little lower down his torso. Connor shuddered, and not just because of Kamski. He shouldn’t have done that. Anything he did brought his power to dangerously low levels. He only had a few hours left before he wasn’t going to be able to walk.

Chloe came back and strode straight for the sofa. “Is this new?” she asked, picking up the coat Elijah had flopped there and holding it up. “It doesn’t look like your style, Connor.”

Thankfully, facing Chloe completely hid his face from Kamski. He winked at her to answer the question he knew she was really asking. (Kamski had changed most of his attire since becoming a wanted figure; Chloe wouldn’t have seen him wearing this before.)

“My friend Simon left it here,” Connor said. “I’ve been meaning to give it back to him.”

“Look at us, stealing everybody’s clothes. You’d think we weren’t human beings with property rights!”

They both burst out in overstated laughter.

“Listen,” Chloe said, flopping the coat back down and leaning one forearm on the back of the couch. “Now that I’ve finally got you, I need you to come down to my place. My roommate accidentally locked herself out of her computer. I realize that sounds absolutely ridiculous, but we’re both older models, and neither of us have been able to hack into it again. Figured it would be easy for you, though.”

He knew what she was doing, and he _wanted_ to go along with it, but there was no telling what Kamski would do. “I’m sure I could later, but I…”

“Connor, come on. It’ll just be a few minutes. I promise.” Her gaze lingered intently, and after a moment, she said only for him: “You’re not the only one who knows Elijah. Trust me. He doesn’t want to get caught.”

“Okay,” he said. “Lead the way.”

They left the apartment without event. Kamski didn’t move, didn’t make a sound; didn’t even offer any visual indicator when Connor risked one last glance at the closet door.

When they were outside the apartment, Chloe took his hand and led him down the hall and to the stairwell. “You were right. Kamski has people surveilling. We should be good going this way, though.”

They exited on one floor, turned a corner, and then took the stairwell at the other side down to her floor. She never let go of his hand, and he never made to pull away. Not until they had entered her apartment and she had locked the door behind them.

His legs shook from taking the stairs.

“God. Are you okay?” Chloe held his shoulders, then held his face, looking at him. “What the hell happened to you? How did he get in?”

“I don’t know,” Connor said, holding her forearms gently. “I don’t know.”

“Come on.” She led him further inside and sat him down on her couch. “We’re just going to catch our breath for a few minutes, okay? Just going to relax.”

“Did you get the tracker on his coat?”

“Yes.”

He sighed in relief. He still couldn’t relax, though. Not with Kamski still in the building and who knew how many of his nearby in case Connor tried to escape. He attuned his audio components to the sound of Kamski’s footsteps, now, and Kamski’s voice, and turned the volume way up.

Chloe seemed all too aware of his fears. “Give it some time. I think he will leave. I spent years with the man, Connor. He’s a very private person and he likes things to go his way. I would be willing to bet he’s going to gather his things and leave the premises.”

“He didn’t get what he wanted from me.”

“Yes, and that’s better than not getting what he wanted _and_ risking getting caught. He knows when to cut his losses.”

Maybe she was right. All Elijah had ever done was run. He ran from Cyberlife. He ran from the DPD, packing up New Center at the slightest indication that someone was onto him. He continuously ran from what he had done to Connor, despite Connor’s multiple attempts to broach the subject (which was more than Connor had ever expected of himself on that front). Maybe he would run from this, too. What was he going to do? Wait for Connor to come back, expecting Connor to just hold still and let himself be paralyzed again? The mere thought was ridiculous, even if Elijah did have a gun.

Chloe sat down beside him. “What happened in there?”

What little energy he still had seemed to leave him then. He leaned his head against the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

“It still hurts,” he realized out loud, feeling the ache of it underneath his chassis. “He used the CCEM to drain my power, and to – to cause me pain. No physical damage at all, and it only lasted a few minutes. But it was… very severe.”

It messed with what little lingered of the corruption. Made it feel big and looming again. He felt tense and on-edge, even as he sat there exhausted.

“Do you need anything?”

“I…” Connor scoffed at himself as he realized just what he needed right then. What he wanted. He felt vague hints of old barriers coming up, some in the form of unfinished error messages as the edges of his vision, others negative physical feedback to the smallness of Chloe’s apartment, to Chloe’s proximity, to the feeling of his very chassis keeping him contained.

He didn’t want that fear, that reservation. He didn’t want to retreat again. He didn’t want to undo all the progress he had made since he had stopped running away from the world. He wanted to establish what was okay and what wasn’t before his fucked-up system could do it for him.

Maybe it was just instinct or maybe she could see it on his face, but Chloe gathered him up in her arms and held him close, giving him what he refused to ask for.

His LED was red at first – another call back to several weeks ago, a humbling reminder that the suffering that had caused the system corruption to begin with was still in there somewhere, even if he had dealt with a lot of it.

Maybe that was okay.

Maybe that just meant he’d been through something, and he needed a little compassion now and then just like so many humans.

He put his arms around her, too, returning the hug. He bowed his head, resting his cheek against her shoulder, and rocked slowly with her on the couch, adapting, adapting, until his LED cycled blue again.

He wasn’t sure if he could talk evenly through the tightness in his throat, but he made the attempt anyway: “Thanks, Chloe.”

A few minutes later, he heard the ting of an elevator several floors up. His floor. He pulled back from where he’d been resting against Chloe, pressed his index finger to his own lips for silence, and waited. There was the sound of the elevator smoothly whispering its way down, down, down. He calculated the seconds between floors from all the times he had taken the elevator before, and determined that when it tinged to signal the end of its journey, it had reached the bottom floor.

Chloe, realizing what he was doing, got up and went to her window. “It’s him,” she announced, and Connor could hear the smile in her voice. “Elijah’s leaving.” She turned back to him. “I told you so.”

“So you did,” Connor said. He sat forward, then slowly pushed against the arm of the couch to stand up. Several floors down from his apartment, they were well outside the radius of the signal jammer, if it was still active at all. “Okay. I – I think I’m okay. If you can excuse me for a moment, I need to call Captain Fowler.”

“Let me know if you need anything,” she said, then turned and went down the hall, leaving Connor the living room.

Captain Fowler picked up after a couple rings. “Connor.”

“Hello, Captain. Are you currently at the station?”

“I currently am.”

“Great. Elijah Kamski just ambushed me at my apartment. As you can imagine, I have some updates for you regarding the—”

“He fucking _what_?”

“I would prefer to explain in person. Kamski was able to block my signal for a time, and I have no way of telling if he’s manipulating it now to listen in somehow. Can you please have Hank come as well?”

“Jesus, Connor. Yeah.”

“I’d prefer if you _didn’t_ tell him the reason until—”

“Not my first rodeo, rookie. I’ll tell him you’re on your way in, too. That’s all he needs to know. We can talk about the rest once you’re here.”

“Thank you, Captain. I won’t be long.”

“Hey. You okay?”

The question shouldn’t have caught him off guard, but it did, enough that he stopped to consider it before answering. “Frankly, Captain, I could use a drink. But yes, I’m fine.”

The truth was, he was way too close to this to have any idea. But whatever he was, he would be a thousand times better for sitting in a secure room at the DPD with Hank and Fowler.

Connor connected with the tracker and quickly determined that Kamski was on a trajectory back towards the Eden Club. He sent off another text to Captain Fowler, asking him to see about getting a patrol from that side of town to go out there just to keep an eye on things. It wasn’t like Connor was capable of doing anything about it himself; at least, not right now.

What happened was both good and bad. They could at least follow Kamski now, assuming he kept his coat on, assuming the weather stayed cool enough for a coat, but now both his and Kamski’s cards were all face-up on the table.

“Connor.” Chloe peeked out into the living room. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But I really don’t think you should be going anywhere right now.”

“I have to,” Connor said, hoping against hope that Kamski wasn’t on his way to wipe the Eden Club androids’ memories as they spoke. “The charging stations at the DPD will help me more quickly than standby will. And I need to catch my captain up quickly. I think – I think we might be running out of time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, angst + hope is so fucking fun not gonna lie
> 
> I actually wanted the first part of next chapter to be the end of this one, I wanted to get Connor to the DPD and have the others see him, but it was just getting too long. Next time :)
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LD200_) | [Tumblr](https://ld200.tumblr.com/)


	20. Sand Between Rocks and Sand Between Our Fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor stays with Hank after Kamski's ambush. They find that the case isn't the only thing close to coming to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I talk too much but y’all are probably used to it by now anyway! So, couple quick things. There is not going to be anything more graphic about the instance of sexual assault in this story. You know what happened, you know? I am very much a write-whatever-you-want kind of person, but it’s just not for this story. My fixation here is the aftermath.
> 
> That said, what will be a lil more zoomed-in are the few scenes in this story that have hankcon sexual content, and some of the complicated stuff that comes with that as a result of their characters and the events of this story. It’s not an enormous part, but it’s there. Obviously this story focuses a lot on Connor as a character, so sometimes that’ll extend to his sexuality too! It’s easy to be too careful, especially with the content of this story and especially when at least half of this is written through Hank’s POV who is Very Careful with Connor about sexual stuff anyway. But, I don’t want this story to give off a vibe that healthy consensual lust can’t enter the picture. So we’re not gonna avoid that! I think at this point most of u know what kind of place I'm coming from with the more delicate parts of this story but I do feel better putting this out here in words. <3
> 
> …Gosh I hope I don’t come off as like super fucking serious or something. I really have a lot of fun writing this story and I hope you guys are enjoying it and getting them feels and having fun too! It’s just I know there’s some tricky stuff in here and I wanna be real with you guys about it. <3
> 
> CW: mild sexual content, about three quarters of the way through the chapter

Chapter 20: Sand Between Rocks and Sand Between Our Fingers

Connor almost made it to the bullpen. Then the clear glass doors turned red right in front of him, and that was when he knew something was wrong – right before he folded down, grasping futilely for the wall and ending up in a heap against it on his knees.

“Jesus Christ, what the fucking fuck?”

Gavin. Why _wouldn’t_ it be Gavin? Why would it be literally anyone else?

Sighing, Connor tucked his head against the wall, not looking at him. He closed the red error message – power low – out of his HUD.

“I’m fine.”

Gavin laughed. “God damn, I keep telling Fowler we need to stop working with broken equipment. Aren’t you good for anything?”

Hurt lanced through him, something dug-up and fresh. He squeezed his eyes shut tight. “I – I’m sorry.”

“What? Jesus, don’t get weird, I’m just fucking around, okay? Here. Uh.” Connor saw Gavin’s shadow on the floor and the wall, cutting into his space. “Here, maybe we should get you—”

“Just leave me alone, Detective.”

“What, and leave you here in the fucking fetal position on the floor? Don’t be pathetic.”

“I’m not in the fucking fetal position. I’d appreciate it if you’d go away now.”

“You can’t just make shit easy, can you, tincan?” Gavin bent down and pulled one of Connor’s arms around his shoulders, then hauled him up. “People are coming in. Let’s get you out of the main hallway. Come on.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“As if I want to. Fucking _move,_ would you?”

There wasn’t anything he could do about it other than be dragged along, so Connor did his best to get his feet beneath him. “I need—” His voice cut out. Too many resources going toward keeping him upright. Gavin looked where he was looking, though, and led him that way.

“Need to charge, or whatever it is you do. Okay. We’re goin’. What the fuck _happened_ to you?”

No point being evasive about it. “Elijah Kamski showed up at my place,” Connor said once Gavin had gotten him to a station. He leaned against the partition with most of his weight. “He wasn’t very pleased with me.”

Something happened to Gavin’s eyes. “Oh, _fuck_ , that’s right.”

“I’m sorry?”

Not meeting his eyes, Gavin swished a hand. “Nothing, just… I heard about, you know, uh, you and Hank going to that club the other day. Guess you pissed him off, eh?”

Connor stared at him. “Yeah,” he said measuredly. “Guess I did.”

“What happened?”

“Clearly, I got roughed up a little,” Connor said, trying (and, he realized, failing) to sound polite. “He tried to drain my power supply so that he could take me hostage without me posing a threat. I got away. Why do you _care?_ ”

“Just… guy’s a fucking freak, that’s all.”

Gavin still looked uncomfortable. Or maybe it was Connor who was uncomfortable, and his system was making things up. He didn’t have the presence of mind to think more into it right then. He was so tired.

“Are you on there right? Fuck, people are gonna think I beat you up or some shit.”

“I’m sorry my appearance is such an inconvenience.” Connor was on the charging station well enough. Slowly, slowly, his power was going back up. It would take some time, but even a few minutes would be better than nothing. “Do you know when Hank is coming in? Is he here already?”

“Not here yet. Heard Fowler say he’d be here in an hour. That was less than ten minutes ago.”

“And where's Captain Fowler now?”

“Meeting. Said he'll be done by the time you and Hank were both here.”

Of course Hank wouldn’t be in a hurry; as per Connor’s own wishes, he didn’t yet know that Connor had been involved in anything. Fowler would have just called and told him he needed to come in. Par for the course.

Hank. Shit. Speaking of Hank—

“Detective,” Connor said as Gavin turned away. “Would you please have Hank check his storage locker when he arrives? Tell him to make sure it’s still there.”

“What, the locker?” Gavin stared at him like he was experiencing some exhaustion-induced delusion. “Make sure _what_ is still there, tincan?”

“Just tell him. He’ll know what I mean.”

“Okay. Whatever.” Gavin raised his hands, turning again and starting to walk off that way. “The fuck…”

“Gavin.” As Gavin turned back to him once more, exasperated, Connor was pretty sure what he said next _was_ an exhaustion-induced something. “Thank you.”

“Christ, whatever. Just helped you move thirty feet. Don’t make a big fucking deal out of it, okay?”

But it was a big deal to Connor, right then. He didn’t want people to see him like this even standing up straight – unkempt, blue blood on his shirt, emotions and tiredness he could no longer keep off his face – never mind slumped over right in the middle of the corridor as people clocked in for the day.

Going into stasis would hasten the process of recharging, but Connor couldn’t bring himself to do it. It left him too vulnerable, and when Kamski had first showed up – well. It hadn’t taken Amanda this time to bring that memory to the forefront of his mind. Kamski’s presence had done that all by itself. He didn’t want to put himself in a state where his mind could wander into the dark so easily.

He _would_ need to go into stasis eventually, recharging or no recharging. But Hank would be there for him tonight. Hank would be waiting for him with those warm blue eyes if Connor found himself in that place. How soothing to know he had that option available to him. To know without a doubt that he didn’t have to be alone.

_RK800 313 248 317 – 52_

_Hello. I’m okay._

_At least, I think I am._

He focused on the steady rhythm of his heart – because it was indeed a heart, even if a synthetic one. He didn’t know what it felt like for a human to not have their heart working properly, but he certainly knew now as an android. He ran a diagnostic; everything came back normal. No damage to his system that wasn’t already correcting itself. Outside of his reduced power, he was fine.

Connor was used to operating on low power anyway; he had only stopped doing so recently when Amanda had called a temporary truce. Even so, the only other time it had been _this_ low was the morning after the first night he had come back, when he and Hank had shared a case of beer and walked up the crest of the Ambassador Bridge. He had scared Hank that morning. Better to recover his power now while he could so that by the time Hank arrived, he wouldn’t be at risk of falling unconscious.

_Even if I didn’t have someone like Hank with whom I could stay the night tonight, I would have to deal with this anyway. I didn’t have anyone when I first started this log; when I first set myself the mission of separating Cyberlife from my program by any means necessary. I was alone. But I still wanted to find a way to be free, to be myself, even then._

_It’s important to recognize that Hank is here for me. That I have so much to be grateful for._

_It’s also important not to get those feelings confused with why I fought back against Cyberlife at all. Just like Hank didn’t try to stop drinking only for me, I can’t just be doing this for him, or even for us. I hope I am never as alone again as I was back then. But if I am, I will still fight. I think I’ll always fight._

 

Connor knew Hank wasn’t originally scheduled today. He probably had to feed Sumo, take him outside, shower, get dressed – on top of the commute and Hank’s general sluggishness with getting to work, they’d be lucky if Hank took less than hour from _now_ to arrive.

As it turned out, Connor’s guess was right – and he was just fine with that. It gave him enough time to recharge sufficiently (six to eight hours before he needed to recharge again or go into stasis), go to the restroom and fix his appearance somewhat, and then, finally, to go and sit down at his own desk.

Connor looked across at the photo hanging on Hank’s desk partition, the one he had of the red ice task force. He wondered how long it would take to feel like he belonged here, the way Hank looked like he belonged in that photo. He had a good relationship with the captain. He got on well enough with Ben and Chris. But for the most part, outside of Hank and Jeffrey, they ignored him. Nobody seemed to know quite to do about his presence, apparently unless he collapsed in the middle of the bullpen. He hoped it was just something that would take a little more time.

When Hank arrived, Connor tried to offer a good morning and a smile, a ‘you’re here early,’ something, but seeing Hank after everything that had happened hit him harder than he expected. All the emotions of the day seemed to bubble up at once.

“Hey.” Hank’s voice lowered and his face changed. Hustling the rest of the way to their desks, he closed the distance and touched Connor’s back as he stood, leading him toward the main hallway. “Come on. C’mere.”

At least one of them knew where he was going. He let Hank lead him past the desks, past Fowler’s meeting, and into the thankfully-empty observation room.

Once they were alone, partitioned off from the rest of the department, Hank took gentle hold of Connor’s shoulders as if to appraise him, steady him. When Hank bent his elbows and came closer, molding his arms carefully around him, Connor clutched at Hank’s back, fingers digging into him, holding fast.

One hand burrowed into Connor’s hair and held his head against his shoulder and didn’t let go. Connor could hear Hank’s heart racing. He didn’t mean to alarm Hank, but it was so good to hear it all the same.

That was the first time it really settled:

_I am safe_

Once they separated, Hank pushed out another breath and rubbed a palm over his face. “Jesus fucking Christ, you scared the shit outta me.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Fuck.” Hank paced the room. “Fucking-A. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay. I can’t tell… did Chloe contact you about what happened?” It was the only possibility he could think of.

“Chloe?” Hank repeated, an open frown on his face. “Fuck Chloe, your goddamn face told me more than anyone else ever could! You gonna tell me what the fuck’s got you so shaken up?”

“Nothing bad happened.” That seemed like a good way to preface this. It wasn’t entirely true, but it was true in the way that mattered. Hank didn’t look entirely convinced; it somehow made Connor less convinced too, even as he repeated, “Nothing bad happened.”

“Connor…”

Connor swallowed, looking away. He had been scared. He had been forced to process more physical pain than he had in – a while. He had thought, very fleetingly, that he might die.

“Okay.” Hank reached for him again; hesitated, before cupping Connor’s face in his hands, looking at him softly. “Listen. You’re doing good, okay? But I’m guessing you brought us here to talk to Fowler about what’s what. You feel like that’s urgent, or can it wait?”

“Urgent,” Connor replied.

“Then let’s keep it together for now and talk to Fowler. We have the entire rest of the day, the week, however the fuck long we need to deal with this when it’s just you and me later, right? Pull it together now so you can do what you need to do. Come on.”

Anchor. Sometimes it was himself, the reflection in the mirror or the ice; other times it was Hank, those blue eyes that made him think maybe he could like a storm. Maybe that was okay. Maybe that was how it was supposed to be.

“We’ll take care of business, then go home, yeah? Sounds like you’ve done enough work for whole goddamn week.”

Connor closed his eyes, putting a hand over one of Hank’s own on his face. He found it in himself to smile. “But have you?”

Hank laughed and shoved Connor gently back towards the hallway, keeping a hand on his shoulder as he followed him out, back across the bullpen. Connor veered them towards Fowler’s office. Fowler was still wrapping up in the conference room but he’d left the door unlocked.

As Connor turned to close the door, Gavin walked past the glass, toward his desk. Connor saw him glance over at the charging station before casting a look around. They caught eyes when Gavin finally turned their way, and Connor dared to smile. Gavin huffed and irritably continued back to his desk.

“The fuck’s this about?” Hank asked, noticing.

“It appears as though I’ve caught Detective Reed giving a shit.” Connor turned into the room, going and sitting on the edge of Fowler’s desk, across from Hank who was leaning with both hands on the back of a chair. “I had a little trouble on my way in today. He helped me get to a charging station. He complained about it the whole time, but so did I.”

“Jesus, what the fuck happened to you that you 'had a little trouble?'”

“I thought we were talking to Captain Fowler first and dealing with everything else later.”

Hank’s eyes flitted down to the blue blood on his shirt. “Holy fuck, was it Kamski?”

Connor sighed. “Hank, please.”

“Fuck.” Hank straightened up, pacing about the room. “Oh, fuck.”

“Hank, I’m _fine._ ”

He remembered that he could track Kamski now, so he did. He was back at the Eden Club, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing. But despite the irrationality of needing the reassurance here at the DPD, it was nice to know he was nowhere near.

“I got that tracker on his coat,” Connor said.

Hank whirred back around to face him. “You fucking what?”

Connor smiled. “I did what I needed to do today, Hank. For the case, and for myself. Please don’t be afraid for me right now. I am going to tell you everything.”

Hank came to him, eyes tender and nonetheless concerned, and Connor had no doubt that if they were not in a room with three glass walls, Hank would have stood up against the desk and held him close.

“Okay, honey.” Their exposure didn’t stop Hank from putting a hand on Connor’s knee, at least, stilling it where it had been bouncing anxiously up and down. “Okay.”

They didn’t have to wait long. Hank had just set to pacing again when Captain Fowler crossed the hall.

“Evenin’, boys.” He shut the door and turned to them. “Connor, I’d sure thank you to get your ass off my desk. Don’t need you spilling my coffee if you decide to topple over again.”

“I assure you I’m sufficiently charged, Captain.” Connor sat himself in the chair beside Hank. “Although I’m sure I’d benefit further from a good night’s sleep.”

“Well, sooner we get on with this, sooner you can do that. Let’s hear it.”

He told them everything. Everything he could without getting into detail about what, exactly, Kamski had tried to bribe him about. Captain Fowler knew he had a problem with his software. Connor had never gone into detail about what that problem _was,_ or that it could let another entity take over his body. If he had, he was positive he would not be on the force in any capacity.

At this point, it was a matter of him not telling and Fowler not asking. He glossed over the details of why Kamski had offered to fix his program, and Fowler let him. Perhaps Fowler knew it was better to leave it alone. Perhaps one day, when all of this was over, Connor would tell him the truth.

Idle musing at best. The truth was that no human could know what only Hank and Kamski knew about Connor unless he wanted to risk them seeing him in a completely different light. There was already enough making people see him as other. He didn’t need to add more.

…

Hank had a hard time keeping quiet. His mind snagged on the fact that Kamski had had Connor alone and incapacitated. He needed Connor to hurry up and fill in the rest before he could make assumptions.

Imagining Connor with his thirium pump regulator removed from his chest, life counting down on a timer while Kamski stood there tormenting him, didn’t precisely reassure him against those assumptions, but Connor’s voice was steady, and that helped more than anything else. Sometimes it wasn’t about what happened or didn’t happen; it was about how the person felt about it. Hank had seen that many a time in this line of work.

“Jesus, Connor.” Fowler had little regard for the mug in his hand as he stood up, coffee sloshing around precariously. “Jesus Christ, the nerve of this son of a bitch, busting into the home of one of my officers—”

“Technically, I am not one of your officers quite yet,” Connor said. Hank couldn’t tell if it was just Connor’s standard frankness or if he was trying to lighten the mood. “Although I’d like to be.”

“Okay. Now, you know I have to ask. Did Kamski learn anything from you about our side of this that could give him an advantage?”

Hank already knew the answer, not because Connor was some infallible beacon of fortitude (although he kind of was), but because if Connor had caved, he’d have told on himself the second Hank met eyes with him in the bullpen.

And Connor – Connor looked fucking offended. “Of course not.”

“Just checking. What about you, Connor? _You_ learn anything that could help us?”

Connor shrugged like it was a foregone conclusion. “I cross-interrogated him. I learned a few reasons for his recent actions and lack thereof, which I’ll summarize in a report before I leave. I was able to get in touch with Chloe who, as you informed me recently, lives in the same building. She helped me, and together we were able to turn the situation to our advantage.”

This was all news to Hank, too, and he couldn’t help himself looking over at Connor, feeling the kind of pride you could only have for a partner on the force you were damn proud to know. And maybe a kind of pride deeper than that, too.

“I am an investigative prototype,” Connor went on, clearly noticing both Hank’s and Fowler’s stunned expressions (and if Hank wasn’t mistaken, Connor was pretty fucking smug about it). “I was designed to overcome minor inconveniences that may impede an investigation.”

“Y’ know, minor inconveniences like signal blockers and torture,” Hank added, earning a smile.

“We managed to adhere an android tracker discreetly to the inside of his coat before he left. It’s not as reliable as somehow attaching it to his person, obviously, especially with the weather getting warmer.”

“Well it’s certainly better than goddamn nothing!” Fowler said. “Jesus, Connor, sound fuckin’ happy about it! Live a little!”

Connor smoothed down his coat. “I am happy about it, Captain. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t also warn you. Considering his ambushing of me this morning, I would no longer put it beyond him to withhold violent action against the DPD if it means preserving his own freedom. Also, we are watching him, chances are high that he is also watching us. But I _do_ feel we have the advantage now.”

“Hank?” Fowler turned towards him and asked, lightheartedly, “What the fuck are you even doing here?”

“You’re tellin’ me! Just like I always said. Fuckin’ androids are gonna make us all obsolete.”

“Captain,” Connor said, ever diligent, although Hank could see the mirth in his eyes. “What should we do about this from here? Like I told you, Kamski made it sound like he was out of options. And people who feel they’re out of options are more likely to take extreme measures. I think we should act quickly.”

“Okay, hold up, hold up. I’ve got some news for you boys, too.” Fowler leaned against the wall, taking a drink of his coffee. “Your friend Jack is finally working with us. Think he’s scared now. He says he knows for sure that Kamski can wipe androids’ memories from inside the club because that feature is programmed into the club’s old network. So, the second Kamski’s _out_ of that building, Jack’s going to tell us, and you're going to use that tracker to help us get to him. God-willing, there’s no way he can wipe their memories with that device on his wrist alone, but Connor, that’s just a risk we’re going to have to take at this point, or it’s all gonna end bad either way.”

Connor nodded. “I understand.”

“Jack tells me Kamski’s got a station there set up for his own research. Stays there for hours sometimes, days other times, so we’re just gonna have to play it by ear. He’s going to inform us if he thinks Kamski’s doing anything to endanger the androids’ lives or memories. Otherwise, we move as soon as we see Kamski leave the club again. Okay?”

“Got it.”

“Okay. I want you to go home. I’m going to have Chris watching out at your apartment complex until further notice.”

“Actually, I…” Connor looked away sheepishly. “I was going to stay with Hank.”

Huh. That was news to Hank. Good news, though, for sure.

“Of course. Makes sense you wouldn’t want to be alone right now. Hank, you’re a good partner.” Fowler fixed them with an expression that said he didn’t want to know if there was any other reason. Hank was grateful Fowler was giving them room for plausible deniability; he liked working with Connor here, and if that was the one thing Fowler would still let Connor get away with when he was official, Hank would love him for it. “Hank’s place, then. You two stay safe.”

…

“Hey, you wanna talk?” Hank asked once they’d said good night to Chris and shut the front door behind them. “I mean… rough day.”

Connor’s face closed up. “I mean, if you’d like. We don’t need to. I told you I’m fine, Hank.”

Connor probably was fine enough, if the way he’d carried himself today was anything to go by. In fact, the only thing that gave him away was the distance in his eyes just now, and then, that slight edge of shame as he looked away.

“Connor, you know,” Hank said, stepping closer, “I'll drop it if you want me to, but you know you don’t have to avoid this with me. Today would shake up anyone in your shoes a bit.”

Ducking his head, Connor leaned back against the wall. Arms crossed. All the signs of closing down, but Hank knew sometimes that was what Connor needed to do to let a gate open somewhere else.

Sure enough, after a few seconds, Connor sighed, still not looking at him, and said, “It was a lot. I’m very satisfied with how everything went, but it was a lot.”

“Of course it was,” Hank said softly. “I get it.”

“Do you?”

Hank was a lot better than he used to be at telling when Connor’s question was a question and when it was a challenge, but he couldn’t tell this time. “I mean, I’m sure I don’t get it _exactly,_ but, you know…”

Connor let out a frustrated sigh. Hank couldn’t possibly imagine what he’d said in those few seconds to elicit such a reaction, but he wasn’t about start talking out of his ass just to fill the silence. Even if today hadn’t happened, he’d be a fool to think they were done visiting this subject just because Connor was doing so damn _good_ lately. Fact of the matter was, there were always going to be ebbs and flows. It had only been a month. There were going to be moments, still. Maybe for a good long while. Maybe for the rest of Connor’s life.

When neither of them said anything, Hank decided that the best words he could put together were: “I want to understand.”

“Do you?” Connor asked, again.

“Yeah, Connor, I do.” Because Connor was alone. There was no one on the inside with him, if they were being honest; not quite. And sometimes, when Hank lie in bed at night, he wondered. And sometimes, on the cusp of sleep, he would wake up from something that wasn’t quite a nightmare, but the fringes of one, jutting him out of its depth as if it knew it was not Hank’s nightmare to have.

Yeah, sometimes, he was a little bit haunted wondering what Connor had been through, both physically and psychologically, in that time he was at Kamski’s. But that was _his_ problem, not Connor’s. Or at least, that was what he had figured until now.

Connor said, “Please tell me you have it.”

It only took a second to know what he meant. “I do.” Hank had checked on the CCEM as soon as Gavin had told him to make sure ‘it’ was still there in his storage. “Took it with me from the DPD.”

“I think this is the last thing I’ve been lying to you about, Hank.” Connor’s arms fell to his sides and he straightened up. The smile on his face was solemn and resigned. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not lying to me about anything.”

What he had been slowly learning over the course of Connor’s lies was that most of them weren’t lies. Just a withholding of the truth. Whatever this was, Hank was sure it didn’t have to be framed as some shameful admission. He was still trying to figure out how to impress that on Connor when Connor stepped inward and linked his hand with Hank’s.

“Holy fuck,” Hank said. “Okay, slow down.”

“I’m not doing anything yet. Hank, I need to tell you…” Just before Connor’s eyes squeezed shut, Hank thought he saw a wet shine there. “I can guide the memory-sharing,” he said quietly, voice shaking, afraid to be heard. “It’s not random. No more random than it would be with another android. I just wanted you to _think_ it would be, if we ever actually did this, because then I wouldn’t have to tell you. Then I wouldn’t have to _tell_ you…”

Connor’s LED was a spastic red flutter. Hank cupped his face. “Connor, hey, it’s okay.”

“I’ve come so close, Hank, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t interface with you _knowing_ that I would be manipulating you. You deserve to know that I can influence what I could learn about you just by focusing on what I’d like to know, and that I… and that I can…” Connor’s eyes grew distant again, very suddenly, in a way that was almost frightening.

“That you can decide what you share with me, too,” Hank finished softly, trying to evoke calm. “Connor, that’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Is it?”

He wished Connor would stop asking him questions in that tone.

“Yes. Jesus, Connor, I wish you’d told me sooner. Nobody should have to feel…” He couldn’t find the words. “Connor, I don’t – I don’t want you to be alone. If you want me to know, then I – I wanna know. I wanna know.”

“But that’s the problem. I don’t actually want you to know. I don’t _want anyone_ to know, yet I don’t want to be the only one who does. I think again and again about the _idea_ of you knowing, but the reality? I don’t think that’s something I can cope with.”

“You asked me if I had this thing for a reason,” Hank said. “I’m not mad, I’m not upset. Nothing’s gonna change. Just trust me.”

_Is it too late? To trust you?_

Connor intertwined his fingers with Hank’s at his side, the mesh between them, and bowed into Hank’s waiting embrace.

He put his free hand around Connor’s back, across both shoulders, and held him tight. “You’re okay.”

“I can’t,” Connor said, even as his fingers tightened between Hank’s. “I… I can’t.”

Hank reached out. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to nudge gently into Connor’s mind or pull Connor into his own, but either way, he hoped Connor could feel his warmth filling in the dark parts of him like sand between rocks.

It didn’t take long. A few seconds, at most. But with Connor’s memory linking with his own, he could process things ten times faster.

Connor must have felt it at the same time, because right then, he let go. He let go a little too fast.

“Easy,” Hank said, pulling back a little. “Easy. Little slower. I’m not an android. That’s better. There we go.”

“Hank,” Connor said, sounding a little like he was drowning.

“You’re okay. I see you and you’re okay. Go on.”

Connor’s voice wavered, an anguished whisper as he choked out, “Okay,” and Hank’s heart started to break.

He saw everything through Connor’s eyes, heard Kamski’s voice through Connor’s ears, somehow aware – through their connection – that Connor had remembered that night again just earlier today, when Kamski had ambushed him. The memory was fresh and sharp. There were fleeting pulses of courage against the shame; glimpses of Connor as he was now through the dark pit of where he’d been in April.

At the front of all of it was dread; dread that his advanced memory processors and sensory processors would mean that the pain of what happened would always be just this vivid, a purgatory surrounding his consciousness like the zen garden.

There were other things, too. In the same way human memories linked and interwove with one another, so did Connor’s, his life an ongoing tapestry. Reflection of Connor’s face in the mirror. Hank, lit up with a soft, warm glow from behind Connor’s eyes, brighter than Hank ever saw himself, straightening Connor’s tie. The juxtaposition of pain and need when Hank touched him. The texture of a dying leaf on the sidewalk of the bridge. (The wilted edges of the rose at the gravestone.)

Connor’s mind was vivid and loud. The sheer amount of sensory feedback Connor received from the world seemed like enough to drive a man insane even without all the respective emotions that came with those things. But Connor – most of the time, Connor wanted it all. Wanted the organized chaos, the information about the world he inhabited, the emotions and sensations the slotted themselves as code into various folders in a way that almost made sense to Hank, even if only for a moment.

And then, Hank was pushed gently out of Connor’s mind, backward and backward, like zooming out from an image to see the whole, the whole of which was Connor, still clasping his hand, still leaning hard into his embrace in the living room.

“Still right here,” Hank said. It didn’t sound right once it was out of his mouth; it wasn’t as if Connor should have expected him to go anywhere, after all. But Hank couldn’t think about the details right then. He just needed Connor to know. “Right here.”

Connor was rigid despite having almost all of his weight leaned towards Hank. His body trembled tersely every few seconds, like he was under some immense strain. Hank rubbed a pattern into his back with the crest of his thumb, desperate to help.

Then, the stiffness left Connor in a stifled, wet breath, and Hank realized Connor was crying.

Connor was crying.

“There you go. You’re good. You’re good.”

A voice-filled sob tore loose from Connor when Hank spoke, and then another when Hank freed his hand to run it through Connor’s hair.

“I shouldn’t have done that, _god,_ what was I thinking…”

“I’m here.” The instinct was to shush him, to tell him it was okay, to tell him he didn’t need to cry, but this was one instance where Hank’s instinct went firmly against Connor’s reality, and he knew it. Connor did not need to be soothed down from whatever he was feeling; he needed to feel it, and thank fucking god he was.

“Hank.” Connor was trying to steady his voice. It wasn’t working at all. “Sorry, I suppose I—”

“Don’t hide for me, honey. We all need a good cry now and then. Bet you’ve never had one of those in your life, have you?”

Connor laughed through his pain, and he must have realized it was futile to pretend, then, because all the tension fell out of his posture and the crying wracked his body in earnest. Hank held him through it, absorbing every shudder and every uneven breath, rocking them back and forth.

It probably should have been painful, and to some degree it was, but more than that, Hank was grateful. He didn’t cry very much anymore, but that was only because he numbed the pain in his own way. You couldn’t heal the pain without acknowledging it was there and letting it have its space, and that was one thing he knew Connor hadn’t done yet. If Connor was anything like a human, and Hank knew that he was, this was not a bad thing. He was amidst Connor’s catharsis with him, and that was not a bad thing at all.

“You okay?” he asked after a few minutes.

“Don’t let go.” Connor’s voice was unreserved and full of emotion in a way Hank had never heard. There was no pretense nor denial left in him, no wall left standing. “Don’t you dare let go of me now.”

He only wished he could wrap himself around Connor more. “You _know_ I’m not going fucking anywhere, don’t you?”

“You saw?” Connor choked out. “The memory. You… you—”

“I got your memory,” Hank replied. “Hey. I’m gonna give you one of mine, soon. You’ll see the fucked up shit I get to keep in my head, too, okay?”

“It’s okay?” Connor asked, and pain bloomed so starkly from the point of his voice that Hank felt it deep in his chest.

“Yeah, Connor. It’s okay. I know everything and it’s okay. I’m gonna hold you all night, until my fucking arms fall asleep, and I’m gonna be here when you wake up in the morning, and if I’m not, it’s because I needed to let Sumo out for a leak. You understand me?”

Connor sniffed. “Yeah,” he said. “Fuck. I feel like I shouldn’t have – I mean, I can’t take that back—”

“I don’t want you to take it back. God.” Hank looked skyward, resting his chin atop Connor’s bowed head. “I told you I wanted everything you wanted to give me and I fucking meant it, Connor. I love you so much.”

“I feel like I’m going to regret this tomorrow, if I don’t already. It’s – it’s too much.”

“Then we’ll deal with that tomorrow,” Hank said. He was holding Connor so tight that he worried, irrationally of course, that Connor couldn’t breathe. “Hey.”

“Don’t let go.”

Hank didn’t let go, but he separated them a few inches, holding Connor by his shoulders. Connor had ducked his head the second he could tell Hank was pulling back, looking away hard, his LED flickering red, red, red.

“Connor,” Hank murmured, heart quietly breaking some more, “hey, you think you can you look at me?”

His body shuddered in another stifled cry; his eyes closed, tears blooming out from the corners.

“Connor, hey.” Hank started to panic, afraid, somehow, that in sharing what happened, Connor had managed to isolate himself even more. “Hey. Hey. Come on. Please look at me.”

There was no way to convince someone they shouldn’t have done something they could no longer go back and change. There was no way to fix that kind of anxiety, no words great enough to express the profoundness of what it meant to have Connor trust him like this; all Hank could do was repeat himself. Anything beyond that would be forcing a reaction for Connor’s sake and he wasn’t going to do that either.

“You don’t have to feel ashamed,” Hank said. “You can, I guess. ‘S your right. But you don’t have to. You don’t owe it to anybody. Certainly not me.”

Connor finally met his eyes, peeking up through the red glow. Hank moved his hands up Connor’s shoulders, gently, one at a time, to cup his face. He ran both thumbs over the plating above Connor’s cheeks, below his eyes. Connor just gazed at him through his own tears.

“It’s just us, baby. Just us.”

“Okay.” Connor took a breath, and he still looked distressed, but it seemed like he knew everything was okay, and that mattered more than anything.

Hank’s phone rang. He ignored it.

“You wanna go get settled in? Or hey, we can go do something if you want. Go to the bridge again, have a couple beers, shoot the shit.”

Connor leaned against him, seeming to have calmed down a little. “We’re supposed to stay inside for the night. Chris is keeping an eye out, remember? I think I’m just going to get a glass of water.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Are you going to answer your phone? It’s late. It could be important.”

Nothing was more important right now than being with Connor. Still, Hank took it out and looked. Fowler. Shit. They’d just talked to Fowler. There was no way he’d be calling unless he needed to.

“Jeff?” Hank asked.

“Hank. I’m sorry but we need you. Connor stays. I don’t want him out right now. But we just got a call – I don’t know what’s going on, but with Chris being there, and several of our other people out on another case… nobody else picked up and I only got one person going.”

“Do you know anything?”

“Nothing. Just that there’s bodies.”

Hank sighed. “Okay.”

Connor was already watching him when he hung up the phone. “They need you.”

“Yeah. Connor, listen, if you want me to—”

“Go,” Connor said. “I’m okay. Chris is just outside. Do what you need to do, Hank. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Connor…”

“We can’t let _us_ impact our performance, Hank.”

“This ain’t about us, it’s about you!”

“I realize that. But I just told you, I’m fine. And even if I wasn’t, I can deal with it on my own. Be safe, okay?”

Connor was right. There was no reason Hank needed to stay here outside of their moment being interrupted, but it already had been. It was just like any other time in the past, when he’d been with his family and got called in. This was just shit that _happened_ , and sometimes it happened at the worst moments. Hank wasn’t used to having anyone in his life anymore that he saw as family; someone whose needs felt as urgent as his own.

But Connor was standing there smiling at him serenely, making it as easy for him as he possibly could. Connor was being an adult about this. Hank needed to do the same. He was needed.

“You be safe too,” Hank said, and meant it. “Promise me you’ll just stay here, okay?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Hank. I still need to go into stasis, so I’ll do that while you’re gone. _Go,_ would you? I’ll be here when you get home.”

“Okay. Call if you need to, and you take care of yourself tonight, okay?”

“Yes. You too, Hank. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

…

It had just slipped out, but by the time Connor (or Hank, for that matter, as far as he could tell) stopped to process it, the front door was shut between them.

Connor watched the headlights swing out around the corner of the driveway, watched Hank’s car disappear down the street.

He didn’t _want_ Hank to leave. Of course he didn’t. He had been specifically looking forward to not having to be alone tonight. But Captain Fowler had been so good to them lately, and besides, the world’s crises didn’t stop happening just because they were focused on their own. Chris was just outside. Kamski, according to the tracker, was still at the club. Everything was going to be fine.

Sumo followed him around, seeming to sense his nervous energy as he checked the doors and windows. Paranoia, certainly, but it wasn’t like the dog was going to judge him for it. And if Jeffrey had thought it necessary to give Connor some extra security after what had happened, maybe it was.

In the end, he crawled into Hank’s half-made bed and tried to get some rest. When he was still, it was easier to notice the dull thrumming in his chest from before. It didn’t hurt as much as it had earlier, but it was still sore, echoes of the pain Kamski had inflicted seeming to cling to his sensory nodes.

But Connor had better memories he could think about now. Drinking by the river with Hank at the edge of dawn. Sitting on the edge of the dock, dangling his feet into dirty water. Captain Fowler saying he wanted Connor on the team. Having friends over at his apartment. Ordering a new bookshelf online. Sparring with Hank. The warm slide of Hank’s tongue against his own. Big hands on his face, his body, around his stomach as Hank held him and kissed the back of his neck. Laughter glowing as blue as Hank’s eyes in the dark, teeth clacking together in the back of an autocab in the parking garage. Fresh and foreign desire piloted by the affection and need he felt when Hank was close. Hank. _Love you._ Hank.

…

Connor woke up on his stomach, his erection trapped between himself and the mattress. He nearly flung himself off the bed rolling back over.

No one. The bedroom was still empty. Hank was still gone. Nobody had caused this and nobody had seen him.

He’d been – he’d been thinking about that night after the Eden Club before he fell asleep. He and Hank getting handsy in the car. Making out. Sleeping through the night snuggled close together. He’d been thinking about how maybe he hadn’t wanted more right then, but how perhaps he would later.

‘Later’ had arrived, with interest.

“Fuck.”

Settling, Connor laid back against the pillows.

Why not, though?

Honestly, Connor felt juvenile for not having considered it sooner.

He spat into his hand and slipped it down into his pants.

He could create a preconstruction of Hank to imagine with him, but that felt somehow too hopeful and too daunting at the same time, so he connected to the internet and looked up pornography. It only took a few quick peeks to close back out of it; none of it was the type of content he wanted anything to do with. He could refine his search terms, probably find some gems in the dirt, but quite honestly, he _ached_ and just wanted to get on with it.

In a moment of sheer thoughtlessness, he interfaced with Hank’s computer and looked up the most recent porn Hank had looked at. It didn’t appear he perused it as often as some humans, statistically. Actually, that wasn’t quite the case. He didn’t peruse it as often _recently._ There were only a few videos in his history from the last several weeks. One was a man and a woman; the rest were men with other men. (Connor couldn’t help but notice Hank’s viewing history had suggested relatively even bisexuality otherwise; the more decisive skew towards men was very recent.) The moments Connor watched from these videos were very different from the ones he’d found doing a general search a minute ago. This was amateur porn, and in the ones Hank had visited most frequently, the couples were affectionate. They were loving. They were tender.

Try as he might not to think too much about what this might mean, neither Connor’s heart nor his arousal were fooled. The guilt of peeking at Hank’s web history settled in at a delay. Connor closed out of it. Somehow knowing what Hank liked was enough. He imagined being one of the men in those videos and Hank being the other. The hum of pleasure built, seeming to push at his chassis. A weighty, warm ache between his legs. He barely had to stroke himself back to hardness. He put one finger of his free hand in his mouth, not thinking about why he was doing it until he found himself slipping it down into his pants along with the other one, lower.

He wanted to be connected with Hank. He wanted – he _shouldn’t_ want Hank inside him. He shouldn’t want to open his body and soul to Hank like this. He didn’t know if he _could,_ if it were real instead of imagined. What if it pulled the memory of Kamski too close to the surface? But even excluding that, Connor had been built to fight. To kill. To accomplish a task. It was all so structured and cold, and what Connor wanted was everything but. Contrary to Kamski’s claims, Cononr wasn’t designed to be vulnerable with people. Perhaps to appear vulnerable, but not to actually be so exposed to someone with any kind of sincerity.

Maybe that was why it felt better than he could have imagined to touch himself like this, to press one finger inside himself while he slowly pumped his length, finding the way it felt best. Maybe it wasn’t just about Hank, or even about him and Hank; maybe there was a thrill in taking what his programming would never have intended for him to have for himself.

But it was still the look he imagined in Hank’s eyes that brought him over the edge. Every synthetic muscle tightened, and Connor tripped on a soft moan before he remembered he didn’t have to stifle it.

When the wave had passed, Connor laid there staring at the ceiling. It occurred to him to dab at the slick on his stomach with his own nightshirt so he didn’t accidentally get it on Hank’s bed.

God, he wanted Hank to touch him that way. He wanted _only_ Hank to touch him that way, to see him that way; to see all the joy and fear that would come with it.

As he wound down, he thought some more about what he’d seen in Hank’s history. (Accompanying it was a rapidly-deepening shame. He had overstepped. It wasn’t right to look at Hank’s history, even a small part of it. He would not do it again.) Most humans felt sexual desires. Clearly, Hank experienced sexual urges. Connor had recognized his arousal when it had presented in Hank’s body in the cab, and a few other times more subtly. Hank always looked guilty about it. Why be ashamed merely of a feeling, especially one that was so good? If the bond Hank felt with him contributed to that feeling when they were close, Connor was glad for it. It was a pleasant, blissful feeling. They could share it. Perhaps they already did, without knowing it. He had just thought of Hank, after all.

Did Hank think of him?

Connor heard a car door shut outside and sprung to his feet. Shit. His hand and partly-exposed stomach were covered in his own synthetic climax. It was a little runnier than a human’s, but it was, like many of his other features, meant to mimic. If Hank saw him like this—

He had no choice. Even as he heard Hank open the front door, Connor darted across the hall into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

There had been the temptation, for a moment, to just lay there on the bed like that and let Hank find him. To answer his own questions about Hank’s sexual desires by seeing how Hank reacted to finding Connor on his bed, worn out, pants around his thighs. But he didn’t know what kind of night Hank had had, and even if he did, perhaps it was inappropriate either way. A step too far all at once.

It only took a few minutes to clean up. Connor left the bathroom, tidy as ever, and found Hank in the kitchen with a white-knuckle grip on the neck of a whiskey bottle.

He had been right, then, not to let Hank find him in the state he was in. Hank was not in a good mood. Connor went to him.

“Hank?”

“Don’t.”

“What’s wrong? Did something happen at work?”

Hank sighed hard through his teeth. “I don’t fucking want to talk about it.”

As Hank started to unscrew the cap, Connor set a hand on his shoulder. “Hank, I—”

“Fuck!” Hank lurched away hard. He flung his free arm out vaguely in Connor’s direction as if to clear the space.

Connor had already backed up out of his bubble, both hands up. “Sorry,” he said, not sure what to say or do. “I’m sorry.”

Not looking at him, Hank took his whiskey and headed for the bedroom.

“Hank,” Connor said again. “You’ve been doing so well lately. I’d prefer you didn’t drink. But I’m not going to _take_ it from you, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Please don’t go.”

Hank continued down the hall determinedly for several seconds, then stopped and turned around. “Vehicular homicide,” he said simply. “Kid was involved. Really fucking brutal.”

Connor closed his eyes, wanting to block out the helpful mental imagery that filled his HUD. “I’m – so sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“Hank?”

“Jesus, will you let it go? I don’t wanna have a conversation about alcohol, or about Cole, or about anything else. I just wanna be alone and drink myself to sleep. Is that so fucking bad?”

“No.” Connor didn’t dare step closer. “No, Hank, it isn’t. I am not asking you for _anything_. If you want to drink, drink. I won’t judge you. I’ll take you to bed and make sure you have water. I am just saying, let me be with you. You’ve helped me through so much. Please let me help you. Even if all I can do is just – be there.”

Hank gazed at him tiredly for a moment and then, then, he dragged his feet back out to the living room.

Partway to the couch, he stopped, turned to Connor in his path, and shoved the bottle against him. For a long few seconds, they both held it between them, before Hank finished making his decision and let go fully, leaving the bottle in Connor’s hands.

“Thank you,” Connor said, not expecting his voice to waver the way it did. Hank didn’t respond. Just went and sat on the couch.

Connor was hit, momentarily, with the urge to dump the alcohol down the drain. He could make an argument for it. But he also knew that Hank was watching him, and sometimes, being gentle was more important than doing what he saw as the right thing, even if just in the moment.

He put the alcohol back in the cupboard.

Hank was half-sitting, half-lying on the couch, slumped back, legs spread, staring at the ceiling. Connor went and stood in his line of sight as best as he could and after a moment, Hank did look up at him.

“Can I touch you?” Connor asked.

The tired, subconscious glare on Hank’s face dissipated into something weak and needy as he straightened up. “…Yeah.”

Connor stepped between Hank’s legs and carefully wrapped his arms around him.

Hank held him back, arms wrapping tight around Connor’s waist, the side of his face pressing against Connor’s chest.

It wasn’t long before Hank’s back was hitching with his sobs. Connor held tight, sliding one hand into his hair and leaning down to whisper reassurances against the top of his head.

“I miss my boy,” Hank said at some point, so wracked with crying it may have been incomprehensible to a human, but Connor heard him.

“I know you do. But he was so lucky to have you for the time he was here, Hank. He was so lucky. And he’s okay now. He isn’t hurting anymore.”

“I am,” Hank croaked, then laughed. “Sounds fuckin’ selfish when I say it like that, but…”

“You aren’t selfish.” Connor held tighter, resting one knee on the couch between Hank’s legs. “You’re just like anybody else. It’s okay that you hurt. It’s okay.”

They held each other like that for a long time. The spot where Hank’s face touched Connor’s shirt was wet with tears. When Hank had cried himself out, they went to bed together, and held each other close there, too.

(Connor grabbed aspirin and water, because crying as hard as Hank just had was certain to cause a headache sometime tonight or tomorrow.)

“Sorry, Con,” Hank said as they were on the cusp of sleep. “You should never have had to… I mean…”

“I’m honored,” Connor said, unsure even as he said it if it was the right thing to say. “I mean – that makes it sound – I just want you to know that I want this, Hank. I don’t feel like I had to do anything. _Thank_ you. Thank you for being present with me tonight.”

“Okay.” Hank sighed into his shoulder. “Okay.”

…

When Connor woke up the next morning, a third of the water bottle was gone and the aspirin had been set down in a slightly different place than where Connor had put it. For some reason, it made him smile to think of Hank seeing it there, to know Hank knew he’d thought of him.

If Hank was still in bed with him, Connor would have been more than content to stay there. His power was mostly restored to where he kept it these days, but he was a different kind of tired; the kind where lying in bed for several hours sounded appealing even if he was wide awake the whole time. Hank wasn’t beside him, though, so Connor got up.

“Oh, hey.” Hank got up from the couch as soon as he caught sight of him. “Connor, Jesus, I’m so sorry. I was an asshole last night, after everything you had to deal with yesterday. You needed me and I wasn’t there, even when I got home.”

Again, Connor was struck by how strange it was to receive an unprompted apology. Because Hank had offered it, he considered whether it was warranted. He decided it wasn’t. “You needed someone, too,” he said instead. “You experienced something distressing at work. That isn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, so did you,” Hank scoffed.

“Is it a contest?” Connor smiled gently. “You know, you’re just like me.”

Hank met his eyes. “Yeah? How so?”

“You feel guilty about things you don’t need to feel guilty about. Honestly, Hank. I’m glad you knew that I could be here when you needed me.” When Hank looked a little more convinced, Connor added, “Are you feeling better today or did you want to talk about it?”

Hank’s face closed up a little again. “Told you I’m fine,” he said, not quite harshly. “I know this must seem like a huge deal to you but I see shit that reminds me of Cole every damn day. This one was just a little too close to home. Look.” Hank inclined his head down toward him pointedly. “It’s old trauma, not new. Sometimes you just have a moment, and you don’t want it dragged out. You understand?”

Connor did, then, recalling the numerous times Hank had asked if he was okay, and the equally numerous times he had left well enough alone. “I understand. Sorry, Hank. When I think about it that way… I didn’t mean to pester you about it.”

“Hey, relax. No big deal.”

Having just looked away, Connor looked back up at him again.

“It’s really not,” Hank insisted. “Just, uh… just wanted to explain.”

So Connor dared to believe it. Dared to believe it wasn’t a big deal. That they were fine.

And they were, for a while.

They drifted about each other silently as Connor put away dishes and hank cleaned up some clutter in the living room, but the silence was companionable rather than tense. Hank elbowed him lightly in the side as they passed each other. A few minutes later, Connor threw a damp dish towel at his head from the sink.

“Hey,” Hank said, “Wasn’t thinking about it much at the time, but why’d you dart into the bathroom soon as I got home last night? Didn’t think much of it until I remembered you’re a fuckin’ android.”

“Ah.” Connor rubbed his hands together. “I just, uh…”

He must have been telling on himself somehow, because the towel landed back on the counter beside him, and when he turned, Hank was standing there with his arms crossed, just this side of amused. “Jesus, did I hit a nerve? What are you so shy about?”

He’d been planning to talk to Hank about it soon anyway. There was no reason he should feel so intimidated that Hank had inadvertently brought it up first. “I was cleaning up,” he said.

Hank regarded him dubiously. “The bathroom?”

“No. Myself. Before you got home, I had been… viewing some explicit content via your internet connection.”

The deer-in-the-headlights look that appeared on Hank’s face gave him a sinking feeling.

“Oh.” Hank picked up the towel again. Started drying a dish that was already dry. “Yeah, lot of people do that.”

“Hank,” Connor said.

“It’s fine. Don’t need to explain.” Hank wouldn’t look at him. He set down the plate and the towel and started away. “I, uh… got some stuff to do in the garage.”

“You already know that I want to use this as a chance to ask about us, don’t you?”

“I don’t know shit.” Hank put his hands up. “I just got some stuff to _do_ , Connor. Okay?”

“You’re as transparent as I am.”

Hank sighed, throwing his head back. “Look. What you get up to when you jerk off is _your_ goddamn business, not mine. I’m glad you wanna talk about this shit, I am. But sex is – it means something to me, Connor. I can’t just – I can’t just explore, you know? That can’t be all it is for me.”

“Do you think that’s all this is for me?” Connor asked. He felt more indignant about it by the second. “Do you think this is – what, some exercise in coping for me, or something? This isn’t because of what Kamski did, or even because I’m just now getting around to thinking about my own needs. This is because I – I feel things for you. I feel _so_ many things for you and sometimes those emotions spill over into something physical. Hank, you’re – you’re very important to me.”

Hank’s face softened marginally. “You’re important to me too, Connor. You know that.”

“In what way, exactly? Because I keep trying to ask you, and you keep refusing to tell me. Some days you want to touch me, and some days you can’t even look at me. You say these things mean something to you, yet it’s your flighty attitude about them that I find confusing. What _are_ we, Hank?” He waited a beat, and Hank didn’t respond. “Are we anything?”

Hank screwed his eyes shut. “Christ, how do I not fuck this up.”

“What happens we get Kamski taken care of, and Cyberlife comes back?”

“ _Fuck._ ”

“Did you think I didn’t notice we’ve been becoming more intimate since Amanda stopped trying to take me over?”

The reluctance turned straight into anger. Hank glared openly at him. “You think I’m taking advantage of that!”

“That’s not what I—”

“Do you have any idea how many times I tried to… That ain’t fuckin’ fair, Connor! I pushed you away so many times trying to keep you safe!”

“I never asked you to _do_ —”

“You can be upset at me for touching you or you can be upset at me for keeping my distance but you can’t be fuckin’ both, okay? Make up your mind.”

“Let me _finish_!” Connor raised his voice. “I _don’t_ think any of that. What I am trying to say is that once they come back, I will have to start worrying again about whether I’ll hurt you, like I did when I choked you in the driveway. I’ll have to be very careful with things like us sleeping in the same bed together, or having fun in the back of a cab. Hell, even – even sitting on the couch watching television. And that really _hurts,_ Hank, but I feel like there is something between us that wouldn’t go away. That wouldn’t just go back to the way things were. But if it’s taking this much explanation to make you understand, maybe I was wrong.”

Hank didn’t say anything. Something fragile started to crumble.

“I’m sorry, Hank. Okay? You’re right. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Shit. This isn’t – this isn’t you, Connor. It’s just – if I put it out there, I can’t fuckin’ take it back. I need to keep it where I can still change my mind, okay? I need to keep it in the before.”

“Hank, what are you talking about?”

“We should go back to being careful now,” Hank said. “We should pretend Cyberlife can still pull its bullshit again.”

Connor blew past the implications of the statement. Hank didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean it. “Technically, they still _could,_ anytime they wanted.”

“Christ, I’m sorry, Connor.” Hank turned away again, and this time Connor knew he wasn’t going to stop him. “Look. I’ll figure my shit out, because you’re right and we should – we should talk about this. But not right now.”

_When?_ Connor wondered, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

Disappearing down the hallway, Hank closed the bedroom door behind him. Not hard. Maybe it would have been easier if he had closed it hard; if he’d shown anger, igniting the frustration deep in the pit of Connor’s stomach, instead of leaving it there in sad, quiet confusion. Anger was a shield. Anger was warm. This – standing here in the corridor and watching the adjacent wall light up red – this was just cold.

Connor dialed Chris. He picked up on the first ring. “Hey. You okay?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Connor said. “I never discussed with you or Captain Fowler if it was okay to leave in light of what happened. Do you think it’s okay for me to go get some air in a public place?”

“You bet. Fowler just wants someone to keep an eye out while you’re vulnerable. Guess even androids need to sleep.”

“We do. Thanks, Chris.”

“He wants me there tonight, too. You still gonna be at Hank’s?”

Connor looked down the hall. “I’m not sure yet.”

“Okay. Let me know.”

As soon as he ended the call, Hank poked his head out of the bedroom. “Connor,” he said, surprised to find Connor already looking back. “I do mean it. We’ll figure this out.”

Connor’s heart ached with hope, and he wondered if he would ever _not_ have a smile for Hank, however small, however pained. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be real with you guys, there was a point where the memory sharing was going to be a bigger part of this story than it’s been so far. It was going to help them see each other’s POV about certain conflicts they’ve had throughout the story; a tool to help them understand each other a little better the way androids can and humans normally can’t. But as Hank and Connor figured out the real way to do that, I think I figured it out with them: that space of not-knowing wasn’t meant to be filled with something that removed all doubt, it was meant to be filled with trust and empathy. There are other little ideas I have, so memory-sharing may come up again for different reasons, but it being an emotional purge for Connor the way it was in this chapter is honestly the only part of my original intents for it that stayed the same.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter ended up being divided differently than I thought it would for various reasons, and I feel like the pacing and mood was a little back-and-forth as a result, but it does mean the next one should be up soon! It'll probably be a slightly shorter one, but.
> 
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